


Damaged Talons

by Diviana



Series: Damaged Talons [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Memory Loss, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Talon!Dick, priest!jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 11:44:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diviana/pseuds/Diviana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abandoned. Fic Revamped as Eye of Another. Jason Todd, an inner-city priest, discovers one of the Gotham City’s urban legends isn’t just a myth. Taking in the wounded Talon, Jason starts a strange living arrangement with one the city’s best hidden secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Secret

**Author's Note:**

> This work is also on my Tumblr link [here.](http://thewickling.tumblr.com/post/137787810561/damaged-talons-masterpost-fandom-dc-warnings) I also have my own personally created PDF, .epub, and .mobi files that would better reflect the style in which Damaged Talons is intended to be read in and has functional footnotes [here](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fmega.nz%2F%23F%21sYg3UTyD%21ZOag96vmTJdv1eQ7BNjXzg&t=Yzc5MzRhNGE4NTMxM2UyODk4MTEyN2RmY2U1ZTRlNjIyZGNjZTkyZSxDZ01lM21Udw%3D%3D)  
> For the version on Ao3 I made all the footnotes hover text.

“You’re pouring your blood and sweat into this church, Father Todd. The least you’d’ve running water,” a weight set woman commented in a booming voice that echoed in the crumbling walls of the church. Her eyes wide with disbelief, so round that her eyebrows hid in the band that kept her textured corkscrew curls from consuming her face.

Jason smiled, placing a hand on her shoulder, “Mrs. White, your concern is appreciated, but I am fine.”

“Tch,” she shook her head, “I’ll get the neighborhood to set up a fund –“she chuckled, “a ‘Keep Father Todd Wet’ fund. We don’t have much but we’ll manage to whip up enough for your water bill somehow. And how many times have I told you to call me Emily?”

His lapis blue eyes widened. Jason replied, earnestly, “I am grateful for your kindness, but I can’t ask that of the community.”

He moved his hand from her shoulder to his cross. Clasping the small ornament, he took a deep breath. Jason blinked, suppressing a laugh as the subtext hit him: _Keep Father Todd Wet._ He traced the outline of the cross with his thumb as he straightened his shoulders. Setting his mouth in a firm line, he thought, _Do not laugh, you’re priest. But a keep me wet fun – No Jason no. Remember you’re only allowed to love God._

Jason swallowed, calling to him God’s forgiveness.

Emily placed her arms on her hips like a scolding mother catching her child’s hand in the cookie jar. Her auburn eyes bore into him. In a tone that discouraged all argument, Emily stated, “It’s only right that the neighborhood chips in to keep your water running. All you’ve done for this community, fixing up this half-condemned place, that’s the least –“

A sharp, pitched scream pierced his ear drums. Without a second thought, Jason rushed pass the worn pews of the church toward the backyard. Pausing at the door to analyze the situation, Jason turned from north to south. His ears absorbed the squeaking laughter of little ones, the grunts of a game of tag, and the lilt of jump rope songs. He tuned hiccups of a teary voice. Shifting his head to zoom on that, Jason observed a small dark-skinned boy, Malik if he remembered correctly, tugging on the braided pigtails of similarly young girl, Allie near the rusted swings.

“Malik,” Jason warned, projecting his voice across the yard.

Malik froze, pigtail wrapped tightly between his fingers. Jason bit his lip, drawing in a long, calming breath. Then, he marched across the myriad of children to reach the two. Malik’s shoulders shrunk in, forcing Allie’s head to turn at an awkward angle. Her wet, honey eyes peered up at Jason. In a quivering voice, she whimpered, “It hurts.”

Kneeling on the ground, Jason reached forward gently moving Malik’s curled fingers from her braid. Softening his voice, he addressed Allie, “Are you okay?”

The small girl brought her hands to her face and balled up her fingers. Fiercely, she wiped the tears from her face as if to wipe out their existence. In a wavering but determined voice, she claimed, “Talon will hurt you –“ she pointed her finger at Malik “You big meanie”

“Allie,” Jason clicked his tongue as she run toward her friends. He’d have to talk to her later.

From the corner of his eye, Jason saw Malik’s dwindling figure. Reaching out, he lightly grasped Malik shoulder. Observing the growing circumstance of his eyes, Jason relaxed the muscles of his face. In a soft voice, Jason asked, “Why did you pull on Allie’s hair?”

As Jason waited for an answer, the sounds of the swings and children filtered back in. Several prepubescent voices sang off-key:

Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time,  
Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime.  
They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed.  
Speak not a whispered word about them, or they'll send the Talon for your head.[1]

  


That old nursery rhyme contrasted with the laughter the ones jumping to it. Glancing up, Jason saw that Allie was part of the group humming. Running his fingers through his hair, Jason sighed. _Allie. She can’t just threaten people like. Should I tell their parents?_  


“Malik, I’m not angry. I just want to know why you did it,” Jason repeated. _Perhaps celibacy isn’t so bad. I’m terrible with little brats._

“Were you angry at Allie?” Jason pushed.

Malik’s eyes were glued on the fractured asphalt in front of him.

Jason tried again, “Do you dislike Allie?”

The little boy’s head shot up like a rocket. He protested, “Nope.”

“Then why did you hurt her?”

“Um… Aiden …” Malik muttered, “…dared… or Allie...cooties.”

“So you like her.”

Malik shook his head violently but Jason detected the reddening of Malik’s cheeks. Jason stroked his cross, praying for the patience to deal with the “boys show girls that they like them by bullying them’ nonsense.

Jason began as calm as he could, “Malik, would you like someone to pull on your hair?”

“I don’t’ve hair.”

“On your ears, then.”

“Nope.”

“Then, you shouldn’t do it to Allie,” Jason stated, “Luke 6:31 Do to others as you would like them to do to you.”

Patting Malik, Jason rephrased, “If you like someone, be nice to them because you want them to be nice to you, okay?” Now tell Allie you’re sorry.”

◈ ◈ ◈

The shrill hissing of his kettle pulled Jason back from his thoughts. Edging his way in the narrow kitchenette, Jason flicked off the stove and poured the boiling liquid into a mug. He glanced at the space. Reaching out with his left hand, he picked up the discarded tea bag wrapping and tossed it in the trash. He shifted further down to rise off and wash the dishes he’d left in the sink. It was hard enough living in a narrow area, but it would be unbearable filthy. Five minutes later, Jason removed the tea bag from his cup. Draining the excess water, he ripped it open to toss into his compost jar.

Just as Jason was about to take a sip of his tea, there was a boom. From the direction, it sounded as if raccoons had knocked over his trash cans again. Jason reached for his cross, now tucked under a plain white crew neck. With his left hand, he clasped a broom. There was no need to be reckless. His church was located in a Gotham slum and that was putting it nicely.

He trudged to the side of church annex that he called home and peered from around the corner. The chilly night air bit into his lungs. Two of the metal tins were laying on their sides, forming downward facing ‘v’. A third one was sandwiched between the two forming a slanted triangle. Griping his broom more tightly, Jason edged to the trash cans. His broom raised and ready to frighten off some raccoons and he pushed a can away to reveal –

“Fuck,” Jason touched his cross and exclaimed, “Oh fuck sorry God – sorry again.”

Biting his lip, looked between the cans again. A man dressed entirely in black was pinned between the cheap waste bins. Holding the broom behind him, Jason slide in closer. The small upward movement of the man’s chest told Jason that he was still alive. Carefully, he pulled the trash cans off the unconscious man. Kneeling, Jason scanned him for any injuries. The man had long unkempt black hair that obscured his eyes. Several branching scars riddled his neck.

_Track marks?_ Jason questioned then tossed it away, _No one is stupid enough to shoot up near their neck._

The branches came off from under his strange one-piece outfit. It seemed to be the combination of a skin-tight leopard and armor. Tightening his hold on the broom, Jason wondered if perhaps a thief was in front of him.

Stretching with his free hand, Jason checked for a pulse. The man shifted under Jason’s touch, groaning. _Clang_ , a small curved blade slid out from a holster on the man’s back. Jason picked up the blade. Holding it up to the moonlight, he noticed the scratches that lined the blade. He swallowed. The blade hit the cracked asphalt with a dull echo landing with the emblem facing up: an owl.

Jason’s breath quickened with his heart rate, a four beat tempo. The gears in his brain whirled, recalling the nursery rhyme from earlier this day: _“Speak not a whispered word about them, or they'll send the Talon for your head.”_

_Talon_ , Jason thought clasping his cross tightly. Jason stood up, holding his broom protectively in front of him. The man stirred, moaning in pain. Jason stilled. Once more his brain evoked a memory, but this one was an echo of his own voice: “Do to others as you would like them to do to you”. It paired it up with a more tattered memory of an old man holding out his hand to a thin boy who was trying to lift the tires off of a car.

Jason rubbed his temple and sighed. Spinning his broom, Jason used it as a support as he leaned over to pull the other man over his shoulders. The random attachments to the Talon’s uniform uncomfortably settled against Jason’s skin. Using the broom as a crutch, Jason managed to half-carry, half-drag Talon back to his home.

Hesitating at his doorway, Jason stared at the beaten-up couch that had been donated to him by members of his congregation. It was comfortable enough for a young bachelor like Jason, but it was no place to house a bloodied assassin from a secret organization that wasn’t supposed to exist. He carefully lugged Talon passed the combined kitchenette and living room area to his bedroom.

The space wasn’t much nicer than the precious area, but at least the bed was in good condition. Jason had brought it when he’d first become a priest around two years ago. Depositing the dead weight on the bed, Jason went on the hunt for sponges, a bucket towels, and a first aid kit.

After rummaging through the clothing donation piles for items that would fit Talon’s frame, Jason tossed everything in the bucket and headed back to his room. This wasn’t the first time Jason had cared for an unconscious person. Jason lived in a church which strangely met to some people that if they could not afford something then Jason would manage to help them. The fact that he usually did was beside the point.

First thing to do was to remove all the weapons from the dead weight. There was no way he was helping anyone if he lost a limb from a broken safety. Jason took the opportunity to felt for any potential broken bones. Starting at the upper torso, Jason traced the Talon’s shoulders to his well-defined chest to a toned stomach toward his legs. Talon was on the more slender side measuring no more than 5’8, but sculpted like a finely crafted machine.

“…” Jason opened his mouth and paused, “What do I even call you? He who shall not be named? Owl’s Secret Weapon? Talon?”

“Talon,” Jason settled on, until the man could correct him, “at least you don’t have any broken bones. Now I have to get your clothes off you because no one likes infections even deadly secret assassins, so don’t wake up and kill me.”

Jason pushed the small weapon of knives, blades, daggers, and garroting wire behind him to be safe. Digging through the bucket, Jason pulled out a pair of scissors. Since Jason was perpendicular to the sleeping beauty, he has to angle his wrist to slip the edge under the Talon uniform. The scissors protested against the material regardless of the pressure Jason applied.

Jason slouched, leaning onto the side of bed. Observing the Talon’s face, Jason noticed that the man a rather attractive face. His gaze dropped to the empty knife sheath and Jason swallowed. Sitting back up, Jason turned to look at the pile of weapons that seemed too numerous to the scanty uniform to hide. A knife glisten atop it all. His eyes jerked between the knife and the clothing.

“Oh fuck it,” Jason swore, reaching for the knife.

Placing the blade outward and along the seam, Jason heard the tearing of fabric as the knife worked its way up the Talon’s leg and around his body. Jason carefully removed the clothing and bit down a laugh.

“So these things really are skin-tight,” Jason mused, trying not to wake the man, “so tight you have to go commando.”

Eying that region, Jason whistled, “At least you have the skill for that.”

Jason traced his cross, _Maybe I’ve been celibate too long if this is getting to me._

After disposing of the cloths and moving the knife from the assassin’s grasp, Jason emptied out the bucket and filled it was a small amount of water. He began working on cleaning up the blood caked on the man’s body.


	2. Who Am I?

_Where am I?_

He blinked. His eyes stinging from the effort. The world was a dim blur surrounding him. His shoulders tensed. A sharp pain bolted up from his chest. He blinked multiple times. His eyes adjusted to the darkness revealing a white ceiling with large stain on it. He flexed his fingers then formed small circles with his wrists. He continued with his toes and his ankles, testing his mobility. Cheap fabric crinkled under his movement, a bed.

 _I am on a bed?,_ he pondered.

The strangeness of it clawed at his thoughts. He could not remember the last time he had been in one. A heaviness settled into his chest as he questioned once more, _where am I?_

“Hm...,” the sound of small breaths drew his gaze.

A man was asleep by his side, head resting in their arms. The white of shirt shone in the early dawn light. Blinking again, he searched his memory for this man and came up empty. He sat up, scanning the room. It was small. The walls were white and were barely large enough for this twin bed and a dresser. The sleeping man filled up the gap left between the bed and the dresser. He was a young, tanned man with a single white streak in his ink-black hair.

 _Who was he?_ he asked.

As if he was privy to his thoughts, the slumbering man stirred. He balled his hands up and squared his shoulders, ready to. . . What? The man straightened up, stretching his arms over his head. Even sitting, he could see that the man was taller them him. Who was he?

“Hello,” the man greeted, “How you are doing?”

“Who are you? Where am I?” he asked.

“That’s rude. You should introduce yourself before asking for somebody’s name.”

“I am –,” his mouth froze. He closed his eyes, ravaging the contents of his mind for his name. Who am I? His head pounded, a dull blade gouged at his brain. Several voices started in unison:

_“In a few years you’ll be up there…”_

_Who am I?_

_“— is no more today Tal… rises!”_

_**What is my name?** _

A rough, primal scream ripped through his mind. Then, it stopped. His chest followed suit. His lungs fought to expand. Who am I? The air uneasily released from them and struggled to return. All he heard was a discord of voices: the beginnings and ends of sentences, the direct addresses, the echoing announcements all a static blur in his brain. _Who am I?_ His heart thudded adding a disjointed beat to his internal orchestra.

“Hey,” a voice came from outside his mind, “you don’t have to tell me your name. Just… listen to my voice okay?”

The man, he recalled, Nod. He ordered himself, uncertain if his body obeyed.

“All right, inhale. One. Two. Three. Hold it. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Exhale. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Now, inhale one, two, …”

His lungs filled with air. He opened his eyes.

The man’s eyes widened, his gemstone blue eyes standing out even in the dimness of the early morning light. His cupped hand slid down his face and stilled at his mouth. He barked, “This is f- ridiculous. You have amnesia. It must’ve been from how banged up you are. I’m Jason. Jason, Todd.”

With an outreached hand, he inquired, “What should I call you? I can’t keep calling you T –“ he paused correcting himself, “you.”

He read the small tension in the corner of Jason’s mouth as hesitation. He’s keeping something from me.

“Robin,” he answered, rubbing his temple.

“Robin?” Jason parroted, his mouth turned up at the corners, “That fits.”

“I think,” Robin paused, his temple throbbing, “that was my mom’s favorite bird.”

“So a nickname,” Jason rephrased, “nice to meet you, Robin.”

“Where am I?”

“My humble abode,” Jason commented as he stood up. He reached for a phone charging on the dresser. The screen lit up. Jason’s fingers slid under his shirt to reveal a small, worn cross. He clasped his hands over it and quieted for a moment. Opening his eyes, he turned back.

“It’s still early, ‘round 4 A.M.,” Jason stated, “How you feeling?”

“Tired,” Robin’s voice scratched itself way out of his throat, hoarse as if from disuse.

He continued, ignoring the mild discomfort, “Sore.”

Jason raked his fingers through his hair, removing loose strands from his face. His eyes darted across Robin’s face. His mouth formed a firm line that combined with the stiffness of his shoulders read as critical and uneasy. Glancing toward the door, Jason asked, “Does it hurt?”

Hurt? Robin looked down, removing the woolen blanket that covered him. Through the white shirt, he made out the faint lines of bandages wrapped tightly against his chest. His ribs ached, a mild pinch compared to the pains he vaguely recalled from his past. Robin answered, unconcern, “No?”

“No? Would it hurt for a normal person?”

“I think pretty badly,” Robin shrugged, his shoulders twitching at the attempt.

“’Kay,” Jason nodded and continued, “Here.”

He handed Robin a small rectangular object. Jason ordered, “Put that under your tongue. Tell me your temperature when it goes off and laid back down. I’ll make you something to eat so you can take medicine and maybe an aspirin.”

Robin pinched the thermometer between his fingers. Scanning the white tee and ripped jeans man, Robin tiled his head. His eyebrows scrunched up with similar confusion. He pushed, “Why are you taking care of me? I am fine.”

Jason blinked and sighed, “It’s only fair that if I preach charity I practice it too. I’m a priest after all.”

“You are a priest?”

“Don’t look so stunned,” Jason clicked his tongue, “Not all priest are old. Enough with the questions! Head to pillow now.”

Robin settled into the bed shortly after he watched Jason stroll out the room. The sounds of pots and pans from the kitchen were strangely comforting. A warmth settled over Robin. A tantalizing sweet emotion that invaded his body filling a niche in his soul that he’d long forgotten he had. Robin closed his eyes.

Rustling woke him, Robin jolted up. Shifting to fact the noise, he came face with a bare set of abdominals. Following the guide they created upwards, he looked up at Jason’s face. His eyes were closed as he tugged a new t-shirt over his head that was dampen by the wetness of his hair. They opened shortly after.

“Good timing,” Jason commented, directing Robin’s gaze with a jerk of his head. A small bowl of white soup, a glass of water, and two packets of medicine were laid out on a fold-out table near Robin’s waist. Robin leaned forward, shifting until he sat at the edge of the bed. Griping the spoon, Robin inquired, “What is this?”

The white fluid had the consistency of oatmeal. It was topped with similarly pale strips of chicken and bits of cilantro and green onions. Jason glanced down, his fingers slowing their buttoning process.

“I think it is called chao,” Jason struggled to pronounce the word, “a member of the congregation taught me to make it, it’s like the Vietnamese version of chicken noodle soup.”

“Oh,” Robin replied, placing the warm liquid into his mouth. The texture was similar to porridge and it heated up his body in a pleasant enough way. His stomach clenched. Robin continued to eat despite the pain as the new sensation filled him with a fuzzy filling.

 _New?_ Robin questioned himself. His mind buzzed with a myriad of overlapping voices that caused his head to pulse with pain. He faintly recalled a needle and a clear liquid that flowed through it into his arm. Robin took another bit, vanishing the voices.

“Well, you have an appetite,” Jason commented, pulling his cross over his church garments, “when you finish it, take your medicine and head back to sleep. I’ll check back in on you later.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the church. I need set up the yard sale,” Jason scratched his head and sighed, “It’s going to be sort of noisy so you better sleep while you still can.”

Robin waited until Jason’s footsteps faded away long after the door had locked. Circling around the fold-out table, Robin fingered through Jason’s dresser. There were an endless an array of plain threadbare shirts and tattered dark jeans. A box sat atop the dresser with a cross enshrined in it.

The room was empty except for the bed that Robin had been resting on and the dresser. Robin exited the room, gliding from room to room. The bathroom was bleached white with cracked tiles. The kitchenette was cramped and narrow. An area that could scarcely call itself a living room was pushed up against the kitchenette. It barely held a shabby couch and a scratched up coffee table. Robin circled back to the bedroom a mere half hour later.

Staring at the meager space, he frowned. His facial muscles tightened showing what he would read as confusion. He thought, _Why is Jason helping me?_

“I can’t preach charity if I’m not going to practice it,” filtered back into Robin’s ears. Was he telling the truth?

Then, he recalled the Jason’s oddness: stiff shoulders, tensed face, and hesitate actions. He does not trust me, but he is still helping me. _Why?_

Robin’s head throbbed. A whispery chorus of voices stated, _Kindness is a weapon._

Robin refocused on chewing the now cool soup. He was observe Jason for now. Robin’s tongue was heavy, unused to the mastication. Twice, he bit into the pink muscle. The pain was minor compared to the peculiar comfort the bland soup provided. There was a small pang of sadness when he reached the bowl’s end. His stomach tensed, bloated with the unusual amount of food.

Robin touched the wrapped pills. His hand stilled as his mind recalled a set of six similar objects forced down his throat. He drew in a slow and careful breath. Ripping open the plastic, he tossed them down and followed quickly with water. Too quickly for his gag response to be tickled.

He leaned back into the bed. The softness of the worn-out springs foreign to his senses. Closing his eyes, Robin was assaulted by the ghost of Jason’s presence. The smoky scent filled every niche of the room. From window near his head, Robin heard the chirping of birds and the bustle of the neighborhood’s morning routine. His heart beat kept time as he demanded his muscles relax as Jason had requested.

The ground expanded out under him, an endless landscape. A cool metal bar was firmly pinned between his thighs. He swung through the sky, reaching his fingers out for his mother. He heard the audience gasping at his tricks. One particular set of eyes burred into him. He tilted his head toward that gaze and opened his eyes.

Robin craned his neck. From the gaps of the window panels, a young, brown-haired boy peered in at him. Robin straightened up. The blanket dropped his body. The boy’s eyes widened fixed on Robin’s figure. Then from his throat erupted a surprisingly high scream.


	3. The Yard Sale

Groping along the wall, Jason flicked on the florescent lights. He was welcomed with a stacks donations that occupied his cramped and weary church. Stretching his arms above his head, he pushed the lingering drowsiness from his body. He had work to do. Scanning the space, he mentally complied a to-do list. It was a three day event and he didn’t have time to waste even if he was literally hiding myth in his house. At that thought, Jason glanced behind him in the direction of the church annex he called home.

 _Knock, knock._ Two sharp taps at the door called for Jason. His hands quickly formed fists and he squared his shoulders. Inhaling, Jason swallowed his unease and ordered his body to relax. He edged forward toward the door. The clock positioned on the left wall. His eyebrows crumbled together. He read, _5:30. Is the clock off? It’s too early for me to be here, much less anyone else._

Jason stilled at the door, closing his eyes. Opening them, he arranged his expression mentally wiping away his tiredness. He unlocked the door and pulled it out ajar. An older woman of approximately 4’8 stood, aligning with Jason’s shoulders, bundled up in a scarf and shawl. Her face was lined with her age like the rings of a sequoia.

Abuela Rosa, buenos dias. ¿cómo estás?[2] Jason greeted the short woman, “Why are early? Volunteers don’t have to arrive until seven.”

She chuckled, her teeth shining against the earth tones of her skin, “Mijo" [3], I am too old to wait for the sun to start my day. Let it chase after me,” she paused, peering into the empty church, “it seems like it chases after you too.”

Jason clapped his hands together and smiled, “Thank you for coming. Welcome.”

Jason gestured to the entrance and flattened himself alongside the doorway. Then, he closed the door quietly behind her. Among the pews were stacks of clothing, toys, books, and donations. To the left wall, folded tables, chairs, tents, and tarp were carefully arranged. Jason directed the elder woman toward the front, near a waist-length stack of odd, indiscriminate items.

“These were donated last minute,” Jason pointed and clarified, “you can help me sort them. The pile to the right is items that we can sell, the middle is recyclable, and left is trash.”

She nodded. Folding her feet under her, she sat down on the steps leading up to the platform. Jason stepped forward, palms flat up in the air. He stated, “I can get you a chair!”

She shook her head. Her woven braids knocking into another with her movement. Her acorn brown eyes sharp spears aimed at his face. She stated, “I am not that old yet, mijo.”

She leaned forward, grasping a well-used wooden toy. Jason lowered himself, crossing his legs under him. They fell into a comfortable silence as they dug through the donations. The silence gave his mind a chance to wander. He recalled the undead assassin in his house. Jason repeated to himself, in disbelief, _I have a Talon, a real freaking Talon, in my house._

The image of a round, tawny orange puffball appeared in his head. He bit down a laugh as he corrected himself, _Robin is in my house. That is a freaking_ ** _adorable_** _name for the Gotham boogeyman._

A belt shaped itself around the small creature with tiny daggers, a bandage encasing its chest underneath. Jason mentally cooed at the animal he had mentally conjured, _world’s cutest, legendary assassin._

His mouth turned down at the corners as the reality hit him: _I picked up an amnesic mercenary. What was I thinking?_

 _Chirp. Chirp. Cheep, cheep, cheep. Chirrup. Chirrup._ The birds’ early morning greetings drew his attention southeast, in the area of his house. Jason’s fingers stopped moving. He blinked, looking down at the shirt he’d been holding for the last five minutes. It was a small red thing with a hole, the size of Jason’s pinkie. He balled it up and tossed it into the trash pile.

“Mijo,” Abuela Rosa whispered.

Jason glanced over and replied, “Yes?”

“What is on your mind?”

“What?” Jason retorted. His shoulders pulled up in a defensive shrug.

“Jay-son,” she emphasized his name, reminding him of how he heard mother’s scold children on television, “I have known you since you were in your mother’s stomach. What is wrong?”

Jason bit his lip. His brain called up Robin whose tanned skin was ice to the touch. _Was he even alive?_ Jason’s stomach lurched.

Jason comforted, her “Nothing is wrong and I told you call me Todd when I’m dressed like this.”

He pointed at vest over collared shirt and black slacks apparel.

“Mijo,” she shook her head, “I am too old to change my habits.”

She quieted, but her acorn eyes were stilled fixed in him with an intensity he’d only read of in books. It was motherly. It drilled a hole through him, overturning the crevices that Jason attempted to hide in. Although his back was straight, he internally shrank. After a few moments of silence, Jason cracked.

“I picked someone who was roughed up badly,” Jason started, “I don’t know what do with them.”

“Someone from the streets?” she asked for clarification.

“I guess you could say that.”

She turned, twisting her body to canvas the church.

Jason shook his head and corrected, “He’s at my house.”

“Oh,” her lips puckered, forming a small circle. She suggested, “Bring him to the hospital. Suggest him some help?”

Jason bit in the inside of his cheek as he spoke, “I can’t. He is,” Jason struggled to find the right wording, “someone that can’t go to the hospital.”

“No documents,” she whispered as if more for herself than him. She continued more loudly, “No one can help him?”

“No. He lost his memories and,” Jason gritted his teeth.

 _He’s a Talon,_ Jason mentally shouted, _He’s a legend and not runs ‘round in bat-shaped tights kind. Robin’s the kind that shouldn’t exist. I picked up a myth and I am probably the only person crazy enough to try to help him._

Jason skipped his internal dialogue and summarized, “I found him, hurt, and, even if I can’t help him, I feel like I have to try.”

An abrupt bright, lyrical laugh broke Jason’s concentration. She reworded, with a smile lining her face, “It sounds like you picked up a stray and fed it. Now it is yours.”

Jason blinked, digesting the comparison. _A stray?_

“He’s more like a bird with a broken wing,” Jason corrected.

“I see,” she chuckled, “So you feel responsible for him, to care for him until he heals.”

Jason found himself nodding. _Responsible._ That was as good a word as any to describe the heavy and reluctant emotion simmering in his chest. The injured bird was a fairly clever analogy although in Robin’s case it was more like a zombie bird that could kill. Jason’s brow creased, _Can zombies heal? Don’t they just had infected and rot?_

The Talon’s muted brown skin was leeched of warm. At first, Jason thought he had carried a corpse to his home. Then, Jason leaned over pressing two fingers under Robin’s neck.

 _He’s sort of alive, I think. Well, he’s definitely not dead,_ Jason considered. He remembered the slow thrumming under his fingertips, an unhurried and unlabored heartbeat. The Talon’s chest moved up and down in a similarly deliberate and precise pace. Jason had waited several minutes to discover that movement that separated Robin from a corpse. Jason blinked and wondered, _how else is Robin different?_

A series of knocks broke Jason’s line of thought. Glancing to his right, he saw that it was now seven. It would have to put his worries aside until the yard sale was over.

◈ ◈ ◈

“I can’t accept this,” Jason protested. He held his hands up, palms flat. He backed up, away from the woman edging towards him. The mousy woman pushed the plastic bag toward his hands once more. The containers shifting with her movements. A breeze blew the strong scent of fish sauce toward him.

“Take it, Father,” she ordered, “Emily told me you’ve short on money this week.”

“You have three kids to feed,” Jason continued, “I can’t impose on you.”

She shook her head and directed, “Take it. My friend gave me too much fish. We been eating it for days.”

“Mrs. Ngo, I am fine. Give it to Peter or Jennifer or Alan,” he frowned.

He reminded himself, _I need to tell Emily to stop gossiping about me. Neighborhood’s acting like I’ve a starved puppy._

“My husband is sick of eating fish,” she commented, “the children too.”

“I can –“

" **Ah!** _”_ a shrill blood-curling scream came interrupted the idle chatter of the yard sale. Jason jerked his head, southwest. In a rapid series, his head was filled with worry: _screaming, his house, undead assassin, yard full of potential victims._ Before he realized it, his feet cut through the church building. The dirt created a low cloud as he rushed. He circled his house to the source of the screaming. A young boy was on the ground with one arm bracing himself. The other arm was flung defensively across his body.

“Alan?” Jason questioned, stepping carefully toward the frightened elven year old.

Alan turned his head toward Jason, lowering his arm. His dark eyes were wide and he stuttered, “Ghost! _There’s a gh-ost._ ”

His finger pointed at the window, shaking. Jason realized that the boy was quaking and frozen in place. Jason stepped closer, peering into the window. Blue eyes stared back out of him from between uneven strands of black hair.

 _Robin,_ Jason recognized.

Jason gaze jerked from the frightened boy to the confused man. Swallowing a laugh, Jason shifted to face Alan. Reaching out a hand, he corrected, “Robin’s not a ghost. He’s my guest.”

 _For lack of a better term_ , Jason added.

Alan cupped Jason’s hand and pulled himself up. Alan gripe was vise-like as if he were trying to draw bravery from Jason’s grasp. Peering around Jason, Alan’s shoulders were turned inward, uncertain. He whispered, “He’s not a ghost?”

“No,” Jason repeated, “not a ghost.”

 _He’s actually a zombie mercenary, but that’s a totally different thing,_ Jason thought to himself, _I can see what he means though. The long greasy hair, lightning-like scars, worn clothes, and weirdly pale tan skin he sort of looks like a dirt-covered sepia Sadako._

“Oh,” Alan looked down and whispered, “I have to apologize don’t I, Father Todd?”

He peeked up at Jason. His cheeks flushed red. His lip shrunk in as he chewed on it.

Jason reached over and patted Alan’s head and nodded. With a small puff of air, Jason commented, “Robin isn’t feeling well so –“

The preteen lit up. Jason quickly crushed his hopes and stated, “you can wait until tomorrow to apologize.”

“Oh,” he looked down and sighed. He created a small pile of dust his foot formed small circles in the ground.

Jason rubbed the bridge of his nose and blinked. Drawing on his inner pastor, Jason began, “Alan, remember Matthew 5:23-24: ‘So, what if you are offering your gift at the altar and remember that someone has something against you? Leave your gift there and go make peace with that person. Then come and offer your gift.’.”

Alan glanced up at Jason. His face pinched in confusion.

“If you show sincerity,” Jason interpreted, “then Robin will understand.”

“Oh-kay,” Alan commented at last.

“Go back and find your mom,” Jason stated, “she needed help carrying things last I remembered.”

“Yes, Father,” Alan took the excuse and sprinted off.

Jason shifted until he faced the window again. Robin was observing him. His blue eyes sharp with curiosity. Running his fingers through his hair, Jason pointed at the window lock. He mouthed slowly, _Open._

Robin complied. Jason walked closer until there was only a few inches between him and the window screen. Jason explained, “Sorry, that kid was scared. I think, he thought my room was empty and it freaked him out when you moved. Did he wake you up? How are you feeling?”

Robin nodded and spoke softly, his voice was crinkly and hoarse from disuse, “I am fine. . . Thank you for the medicine.”

Scanning Jason from head to toe, he continued, “You really are a priest.”

“Of course I am a pastor,” Jason defended himself.

“You act different with them,” Robin commented. His head tilted to one side as he observed Jason. He continued, “more professional and . . .”

He trailed off.

Jason interrupted, “If you’re well-enough to judge me, I guess you’re not too bad off. To be safe, close the curtains and go back to sleep. I’ll check on you ‘round one.”

Robin stared at him. His blue eyes clouded with an emotion that Jason couldn’t read. Then Robin slowly nodded. Jason shifted on his heels. Running his fingers through his hair, he questioned how he arrived at a point where he had essentially adopted a zombie assassin as a ~~pet~~ ward. With a small sigh, he headed back to church yard sale.


	4. An Offer

Robin pulled the collar of his shirt away from his body. He peered at his chest. Tracing the scars covering the upper half of his chest with his eyes, he recalled the Asian boy’s wide-eyed expression from earlier in the day. The scar that branched towards his neck and edged his jaw was the most prominent one he had, but several marred his arms, legs, and torso. Every piece of his flesh was puckered and worn. Following the outline of the bandage wrapping his chest, he briefly wondered what injury was hidden behind the gauze. What scar marked him, branding an experience to his flesh.

His brain conjured a red fluid that was accompanied by piercings screams. Robin's ears itched from the memory. The liquid coated his clothes, a cloying metallic scent. His nose smarted from the ghost of it. A phantom sensation in his palms was followed by simultaneous echoes of sobbing, begging, and shouting. . . 

_Creak_ , Robin tensed at the door's groan. Leaning forward, Robin pressed his feet flat on the wooden panels of Jason's room. He carefully stood up and edged toward the window, shifting his weight onto the balls of his feet. He focused his eyes on the bedroom door and reached out with his ears.

_The door closed. Someone headed east into the kitchen and opened the fridge. The sounds of drawers were then followed by a sharp yowl, "Shit no! That was my last -"_

_Jason_ , Robin recognized. He relaxed. His shoulders jumped, tightening at Robin's reflex. Ignoring it, Robin walked out of the room and into the narrow space that connected the bedroom to the kitchenette. He paused at the boundary, hiding himself in the shadows. Scanning the area, he saw Jason's broad figure at the sink. The man's hands were pressed against the edge with his weight shifted forward. Robin focused his ears and picked up soft muttering mixed with cursing. Suddenly, Jason pushed off the counter and spun around.

"Shit!" Jason swore. His eyes were wide and an arm reaching behind him for what Robin assumed was a weapon. Robin picked up his pattering heartbeat. Jason pressed three fingers on his cross. Straightening up, Jason eyed Robin with extra focus on his hands. Jason swore, "Fuck, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Don't creep up on people."

 _He's afraid of me_ , Robin read the tightness of Jason's clenched jaw. The taut skin attenuating his sharp features. Robin tilted his head up, lining his eyes were Jason's. The air was thick. Jason stared unwaveringly into Robin's eyes as if attempting to read Robin's soul. The muggy silence continued. Neither man moved beyond the small rise and fall of their chests.

Jason blinked. Breaking their contact, he stepped towards Robin. His hands were up, palms flat in surrender. He commented, defusing the situation, "Okay, Casper you got me. What did you need?"

Robin inhaled and edged out of the shadows. He opted to ignore the Jason's still stiff shoulders. Robin shook his head and corrected, "I heard something."

Jason glanced at him, his head angled to the left. Robin crossed his arms over his chest. He questioned, "What?"

"Nothing. You look better. How do you feel?"

Robin blinked, mentally assessing his condition. The sensation he felt was contracted muscles of his stomach and the dryness in his throat. Robin struggled to name the emotion, but it was not pain. As if predicting his deliberation, his stomach released a series of gurgling growls.

"Ha," Jason chuckled, a hand cupped over his mouth. He continued, "Hungry. Got it. But before I feed you, does anything hurt?"

Robin turned his head left to right, slowly. Jason closed the distance between them. He pressed his warm fingers against Robin's forehead and his right hand was on his. His fingers twitched from the contact. Jason stepped back and commented, "Well, guess it's safe for you to shower? Then, we''ll replace your bandages and eat."

Jason pushed pass Robin to enter his room. Pausing at the doorway, he gestured at Robin. He followed into the room. Robin watched Jason dig through his closet. He turned around with a large red duffel with a white cross along the side. Jason jerked his head in the direction of his bed. Jason ordered, "Take off your shirt."

"What?", he asked. Robin sat at the edge of bed.

"No," Jason retorted, tucking on the strap, "Need to cover your cut so you can shower, unless you want a nasty infection."

Robin nodded. Tucking his thumbs under the edge of his shirt, he quickly pulled it off. Jason placed the red duffel by Robin's feet and knelt in front of Robin. Jason quickly dug through the bag and gloved his hands. He rose, his face was parallel with Robin's. Jason directed, "Arms relaxed, alright?"

His fingers were warm through the latex. Jason worked, quickly to unwrap the dressing. Robin commented, "You seem use to this."

Jason peeked up and sighed, "This isn't my first time. Strange men in masks make a habit of blacking out near me. Starting to think, I'm going to stitch up the Dark Knight one of these days."

Jason shifted at the end of his sentence. With the last of the bandages in his hands, he froze. Robin glance down at his puckered flesh stretched across his ribs. It was red only at the center. He cocked his eyebrow and asked, "What is wrong?"

Jason moved his hand until it overlapped with the edge of Robin's injury. His fingers traced its downward path and stilled near Robin's heart. Jason's eyes darted up, scanning Robin's face. he muttered, "You must be a super."

"Super?"

"You know the supers like Wonder Woman," Jason clarified. He dug through his duffel. As Jason shifted to apply a plastic cover to the wound, Jason stated, "You'll probably be healed by 'morrow."

Jason pushed himself off the floor. He wandered to the closet and handed a towel at Robin. Pointing with his left hand, Jason commented, "Shower quickly. Then, I'll redress your injury."

Steam fogged the glass surrounding Robin. The narrow space was difficult to maneuver in. He carefully applied soap to his body, avoiding his injury. The spray of water was scalding, reddening Robin's sepia-toned skin. To Robin, it was not uncomfortable. Vestigial memories of cold swirled in his mind: a steel coffin, blood spilling from his body, the darkness.

Robin's chest tightened. Closing his eyes, he focused instead on the intense heat until the memory of cold faded. Opening his eyes, he quickly shampooed his hair. Rust-colored flakes were mixed in with the rivets of water and spots of soap running down the drain, turning it a pinkish red. Robin stood under the spray until the water run clear.

Stepping out onto the cool tile, Robin reached for the towel. He efficiently wiped himself down. Glancing at the crumpled up pair of pants on the white flooring, he wondered if he should wear them again. His shirt was still abandoned on Jason's bed. Perhaps, he deliberated for too long because Jason popped his head through the door.

"Hey, what's taking you so -", Jason trailed off as he scanned Robin's figure. Diverting his gaze, Jason apologized, "Um..., I'll get you some clothes."

A few moments later, Robin exited the bathroom in a pair of joggers that were too large around the waist and piled slightly at the ankles. Jason leaned against the dresser. He had changed into a plain gray shirt and a sweatpants. Jason gestured with a flick of his wrist at the bed. Robin turned sideways and edged pass Jason to sit on the bed's edge.

Jason knelt in front of Robin and pulled an array of supplies from the first aid kit: two bottles of clear fluid, a bag of cotton balls, gauze, a set of pliers, and a roll of bandages. He carefully removed the clear covering from Robin's wound. Attaching the cotton to the pliers, Jason soaked it in one of the liquids. _Water?_ He lightly ran it across the length of the injury. The second fluid smelled strongly of rubbing alcohol. It stung slightly as Jason dabbed it across his flesh. Jason then wrapped a thin layer of gauze around Robin's chest followed by a layer of bandages to secure it. He placed the items back into the duffel.

Jason stood up, brushing off his knees. He commented, "You're the best patient I've had."

"How many have you had?"

"Not many," Jason shrugged, "Usually kids that skin their knees, homeless after a territory fight. Small cuts or people too poor to afford a hospital for anything less than life threatening except that Star City punk."

"You are a strange priest," Robin commented.

"This strange priest is the one feeding you," Jason stated, raising an eyebrow, "not the best idea to diss him. Here, catch."

A balled up, white shirt landed on Robin's lap. Jason plopped the duffel into the closet and turned to leave the room. He glanced back and stated, "Put that on. The food's ready."

The shirt was loose on Robin's shoulders and extended far past his waist. Robin walked into the kitchen and dining space. The small square table held a two bowls of soup from that morning and a plate of cabbage mixed with other vegetables. The surface of the table barely fit an additional two glasses of water. Robin's feet ghosted Jason's under the table.

"Robin," Jason began, "Tomorrow, Alan, the kid from this morning, wants to meet you, okay?"

Before he could respond, Jason continued, "Of course, Mrs. Ngo and I will be there to mediate."

The corner of Jason's mouth twitched on the second half of sentence. Robin read that as uncertainty. He questioned himself, _Why is Jason feeding someone he does not trust? What it is keeping from me? He knows me._

Robin closed his eyes, rubbing his throbbing temples. _Who am I? How does Jason know me?_

_Please no... not my children..._

_It can't be you're not real!_

_I'll pay you, how much do you -_

Robin's mind was filled with screams. His ears itched from the disjointed memories. It felt like a blade was driven straight into Robin's brain and twisted. Robin pressed his fingers on his temple. _Who am I?_

"Robin, you alright?" Jason asked, drawing Robin of his thoughts.

"Why are you nice to me? Why are letting me stay here?" Robin hissed, "You know me."

"I don't -"

"Don't lie. You flinch when I move. You have to know me. Why else offer me a bed to someone you do not trust. Jason, who am I?", Robin half-whimpered, half-shouted. His head overtaken by the voices, shrieking in his mind.

"I don't know you. Wait," Jason gestured before continuing, "I've my suspicious about who you are. I've heard of you."

Jason stilled, diverting his gaze from Robin. He drew a deep, lingering breath. Jason straightened up, staring Robin dead in the eyes. Jason redirected, "You wanted to know why I let you in my house right?"

Jason's left hand formed a fist on the table and his right touched his cross briefly. He continued, "I'm paying it forward."

"I use to be a punk who stole tires for a living. No one ever looked at me twice," Jason inhaled, slowly, "One day, I messed with someone I should've messed with - got beat half way to hell and left in the trash to die. Would've died like that too except for a noisy priest. He dragged me to his church and patched me up. I wanted to leave right away -I was a punk that didn't trust grown-ups, but the Father made a deal with me. I'd stay with him for a month until I healed, if I wanted to at the end of the month he wouldn't stop me. He offered it to me again the month after that and the month after that for a year. He literally picked me outta the trash and gave me a chance to make something outta myself."

"Who am I?" Robin pushed, fingers still firmly pressed against the side of his pounding head.

"From the way, you're holding your head," Jason crossed his arms and redirected, "do you really want to know? Doesn't look like a good life to be going back to. You've got a chance to build a new you, what do you want to do?"

Robin blinked. His head felt like it had been put in the meat blender. The flashes of memory he had were not pleasant, expected for that dream. Robin frowned, "I don't know."

"Alright," Jason nodded, his fingers reaching up to his cross. He stated, "I'll offer you the deal I was offered back then. I'll keep an eye on you, while you sort yourself out. If you still want to know at the end of the month, I'll tell you. Deal?"

Jason offered his hand and Robin took in a firm shake. Robin nodded.

"Good," Jason agreed, standing up. He gathered his empty bowl and placed it in the sink. He ordered, "Head to bed as soon as you finish eating, I'm going to shower."

 _The bed_ , Robin's eyebrows creased as he recalled only one bed in the entire house. Thinking aloud, Robin asked, "Where will you sleep?"

"I'll take the couch," Jason laughed, "unless you want me to squeeze in with you."

"You were a street rat," Robin mused, "That explains your crassness."

"You mean smooth," Jason corrected, "if not you can take the couch."


	5. A Memory

Jason turned over, folding his pillow over his ears. The sound bled through the cotton and dug into his ears, twisting and tearing at his eardrums. Jason pressed the pillow firmly onto his head, but his ears were beaten down by the irregular shouts. Groaning, Jason rolled onto his opposite side. He groped his scratched up coffee table for his cellphone, ignoring the roughness of the table. His eyes cracked open, forming groggy slits. The bright, blinding screen displayed the numbers: 3:30 A.M. in painfully lit up white.

"Who in the world is awake at this time?" Jason groaned, pushing himself into a sitting position. Placing his phone on his lap, he clasped both hands on his face. He moved them in small circles to massage away his weariness. He voicelessly vowed, _I have be awake at 6. It better not be Mendez kids again or ..._

Glancing around his living room, he allowed his eyes the much needed time to adjust to the darkness. He surveyed the area, using his ears to determine the direction of the pained sounds. It came from his right, the direction of his room. Pushing himself off the worn couch, Jason softly edged to his room. As he stepped into the narrow hallway, Jason was transported into the past:

_His jaw ached as he gritted teeth. The faint coppery wetness coated his tongue. Jason's throat felt raw from swallowing his screams. As if to support him, his fingers wrapped tightly against his bedclothes. His ribs were a cage constraining his lungs. Each breathe was interrupted by another clawing groan. A set of hands lifted him and placed Jason on their lap. A large, warm hand stroked his hair. The even beats of their heart calming his pain._

Jason stopped in front of his bedroom door and wondered, _is this how he felt?_

Shaking his head, Jason untangled from his past. Taking in a deep, grounding breath, he grasped the doorknob and turned it. The unearthly shrieks from Jason's bed suddenly stopped. Robin squirming form stilled and he jolted into a sitting position. Robin locked eyes with Jason. His face contorted in the dark.

He flicked on the lights. Jason leaned on the doorway and crossed his arms. In a whisper, he explained, "I heard you from the living room."

Robin opened his mouth. A hoarse and scratchy "sorry" slipped out. Jason continued, "Do you want water, warm milk, or an aspirin?"

"Water and aspirin," he croaked. Robin rubbed his temple, absentmindedly. Jason nodded, stepping from the door.

Moments later, Jason handed a glass of water to calloused hands followed by a small white pill. Jason watched the sweat glisten on Robin's face and was struck by how familiar Robin's weary face was. His mind pulled up his expression much younger but just as threadbare as Robin's. He swallowed and then asked, "Do want to talk 'bout it?"

Robin's free hand want straight to the side of his head as if to hold it together. He turned his head and scanned Jason's face with his eyes. His brow was furrowed as if in deep concentration.

Observing Robin, Jason was flooded with a peculiar and surreal sense of familiarity. Jason tilted his head and thought, _I've seen this before._

Jason surveyed Robin as he flipped through his mental catalog. His eyes lingering on the crease between Robin's eyes, clouded sky eyes, and the curl lip. His arms so tightly wrapped around his chest that his shoulders sag into him. Jason blinked and bit his lip. He sharply inhaled. Staring at Robin, Jason saw in the shadows a young hunched up boy.

As if Jason peered into a reflection of his past,only now he was on the other side. His throat constricted as he faintly recalled the deep, mellow tones that had comforted him. Jason echoed, "You don't have to tell me. Just know I'm in the next room if you need me."

Robin nodded, his shoulders loosening up. He whispered as Jason turned off the lights and left the room: "Goodnight."

Jason leaned on the closed door. One hand ran through his hair, snagging a few loose strands on the way out. The other lingered on the doorknob. He closed his eyes. The night seeped in through the walls: the yowling of alley cats and the irregular zoom of passing cars. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears, an allegrissimo. However, the room behind him was silent.

He stepped forward. Glancing at his phone, Jason swore, "Fuck, 3:50."

Jason scurried toward the living room, nearly knocking his shins into the coffee table on his way past. He dropped his phone on the table. Flipping his blankets up, he plopped onto the couch. It creaked under him. Tightly shutting his eyes, he tugged the blankets up to his neck. He mentally moaned, _I gotta wake up in 2 hours._

His chest dropped up and down at an andante. Likewise, his ears picked up his even-paced heartbeat. His mind drifted in the opposite direction. A current dragged out mental noise from the odd corners of his brain: _What is a Talon afraid of?_ His mind drove down a Tim Burton-esque rabbit hole. Jason ordered himself, _Stop thinking. Damn it, go to sleep._

The couch springs groaned as Jason turned onto his side. Stretching out his hand, he reached for his phone. Cracking open one eye, Jason pressed on his screen: _4:05_. He placed it back own and shut his eyes.

 _One. Two. Three._ Jason counted out to drown out the odd thoughts keeping him up. _two hundred and ten, two hundred and eleven, two hundred and thirteen._

At three hundred, he checked his phone once more. The blue screen read 4:11. The air left his lungs in a short huff. He closed them and flipped back over. He added up, _Zero. One. One. Two. Three. Five. Eight._ [4]

 _Six thousand, seven hundred and sixty-five_ , he summed up. Tossing his arm backwards, he groped for his phone. The screen now read 4:25.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Under his breathe, he swore, " _Fuck_."

The way his tongue shifted from the root of his mouth down on the 'k' was bland. There was a tame and dry sensation aftertaste. Swallowing, he switched gears.

"¡Mierda!", he cursed, "Ya valí madre."[5]

The Spanish rolled off his tongue smoothly with a kick that the commonly abused English swear word lacked. A small portion of his annoyance alleviated, Jason peeked at his again. It read 4:27. He blinked. He sighed, _One a half hours, now. What's the difference?_

He closed his eyes, weighting out the pros and cons. He sorted, _Is one a half hours more sleep worth it? If I sleep now, will I even wake the h- up?_

His eyes opened. A soft inching breathe escaped his lungs. The number on his screen inched up two digits. He shifted onto his other side. Staring at the nicks on the table across from him, he groggily pushed himself off the couch.

_Need coffee._

Giggling children, a cloudless sky, and stacks of items flitted through his mind. He murmured, "Strong coffee."

His feet begrudgingly trudged into the kitchenette. He turned on the lights. Softly edging around the counter, he dug through his cabinet. Mechanically, Jason added light roast grounds into his machine, then water.

"Here," a rich voice whispered.

 _Shit_ Jason internally hissed. His hands reflexively tightening into a fist on the counter. Inhaling, he suppressed a flinch. Turning a quarter, Jason inquired, "Can't sleep?"

Robin shook his head. The light from the kitchen barely grazed his face.

Jason shifted, leaning into the counter. He offered, "Want to tell me why?"

It was awkward. The only noise in the room was the bubbling machine behind him. Jason blinked. His eyes darting from Robin's expressionless face to dining table to the ground and back. After several rotations, Robin stepped forward breaking Jason's pattern. Jason blinked several times in succession.

Breaking the silence, Jason commented, "You don't have to -"

"I do not want to close my eyes," Robin interrupted.

"That bad, huh?" Jason continued, "Well, you're welcome to stay up with me, but there's not much to do here."

Jason gestured to the dining table in front of him. Taking four steps, Robin nimbly sat down in one of the worn and lopsided chairs. _Beep, beep._

Glancing behind him, the coffee machine button shone red. Looking back up, Jason asked, "Want some coffee?"

Robin's nose wrinkled as he shook his head. Jason pointed at a set of boxes on the counter. He stated, "Haven't cooked yet, but there's cereal there and I think I still have milk in the fridge."

He turned. Pouring dark liquid into a mug, Jason carefully blew on it. As soon as it touched his tongue, the acidity of it smarted his tongue. Rubbing his wrist against his lips, he placed the mug down and reached for sugar and creamer he kept in the cabinet above the coffee machine. He dolloped in a healthy spoonful of each. The sweetness disguised the bitterness of the burnt coffee.

Joining Robin at the table, Jason's eyes widened. In front of Robin was a gallon of milk and an open box of rice crisps, both of which were in a bowl. Jason blinked and thought, _What demon do you have to sell your soul to be quietly pour a bowl of cereal?_

As Robin placed spoonfuls of crinkling cereal into his mouth, Jason noticed several odd strands of hair narrowly missing a milk bath. Jason leaned forward, stretching his fingers to catch a lock of Robin's black hair. A hiss escaped his lips. Jason curled into his arm. A jolting pain extended from Jason's wrist. Blinking, it took Jason several minutes to process Robin's vise-like gripe around his wrist.

"Sorry," Jason hissed, "should've said something."

The pain vanished. Robin eyed Jason. Rubbing his wrist, Jason nervously chuckled, "Remind me never to jump you in a dark alley."

Robin closed his eyes and opened them. Jason continued, "Isn't that annoying?"

Jason gestured at the messy mane that covered Robin's head. He commented, "Getting in your eyes and all. I'd cut it for you if you want."

Robin shifted in his seat, leaning away from Jason. His fingers ghosting chest. He shook his head and growled, "No shears."

"Alright."

Jason took another sip of his coffee, peeking at Robin over the rim of the cup. Internally, he winced as Robin's fringe dipped into his spoon ever so slightly. The long strands, although the wrong color, vaguely reminded Jason of a certain Star City punk that treated his couch as a free motel. He placed his cup on the table. Smirking, Jason commented, "No scissors, but we're getting all of that outta your face now."

Jason marched to his room, digging through his drawer of odd-items. The small plastic box was shoved into the corner since he never had a need for thin pieces of metal. A few moments later, Jason entered his kitchen and dining area armed with a comb, a rubber band, and box of bobby pins. Robin shifted away from Jason, his eyes darting around like a skittish cat.

Holding his hands up, Jason commented, "Please, please keep your hair outta of your face. I won't hurt you, just let me to it before I pop a blood vessel."

"Only if I get more cereal," Robin stated.

"Eat all the cereal you want. That reminds me I need to buy groceries tomorrow."

Jason first combed through Robin's hair with his fingers. The locks were soft as a kitten's fur and curled in loose strands. The texture was smooth in a way that contrasted with the scent of the cheap shampoo that Jason owned. Reaching for the comb, he brushed all of Robin's hand into his hand. When tied up, there was a curled tail of roughly four inches that landed at the nape of Robin's neck. Jason then twisted the ponytail into a bun and supported it with several pins. Stepping to the side, Jason pinned Robin's fringe away from his face with a set of crossed bobby pins.

Shifting back, Jason admired his handiwork. Observing the overall composition of Robin's face, he was struck by the brilliance of Robin's now visible eyes. They were a refreshing shade of blue like the spring sky on a cloudless day. There would be a youthful attractiveness to the roundness of his face if it were for the lack of an expression. Regardless, even in a shirt two sizes too large, anyone could tell that Robin had well-toned figure, a acrobatic or a dancer's muscle structure.

"We really need to get you some clothes that aren't mine," Jason commented, absentmindedly. _Something that actually fits._

◈ ◈ ◈

It probably wasn't the most morally correct thing to be shifting through donations intended for sale, especially since he was a priest, but Jason didn't own enough clothes to keep two grown adults dressed. He tossed a pair of ripped jeans a little too big, a faded basic tee, and a jacket worn down at the sleeves Robin's way. Balling up the tags, he turned to see Robin already dressed.

Robin would've looked like anyone off the streets if there wasn't something slightly off-kilo about the lack of light in his eyes, the hollowness of his cheeks, the firmness lip of his mouth, and the faded scars along his jaw and neck. The aura around Robin was charged in the same way the air in a field is just before lightning strikes.

Running his fingers through his hair, Jason stated, "Try not to scare Alan too much. He's still a brat."

 _Thud. Thump. Thud._ There was a series of knocks at the door of the church. Jason glanced at Robin, carefully backing up to the door. Ms. Ngo, the stout and mousy woman, and Alan were locked at the elbows as if she had physically dragged along the boy a head taller than her.

"Hello," she nodded.

She pushed her son in front of her. He stared intently at his shoes. Gestured at the church's interior, Jason stepped back. His eyes darting between the pair and Robin, Jason commented, "I promise he won't bite."

 _Can't promise anything 'bout murder though_ , Jason joked, wryly to himself.

Ms. Ngo escorted her son pass Jason, following closely behind as if to block any potential escape attempts. Alan slunk down like a turtle in its shell. Jason closed the rear, eying Robin. He stood perfectly still, only his irregular breathe betrayed that he was made of flesh not stone. Halfway to Robin when the door behind him creaked open. Glancing back, he saw peering in Emily and Abuela Rosa.

Biting down on his lip, his gaze darted between Robin and Alan several times filling his chest with a sort of heaviness that made it difficult to breath. His muscles tensing up. He slowly backed from the group to do his duties. It took every quirk of control he had in his body not to join the trio.

Pasting a smile on his face, Jason greeted, "Good morning, Abuela Rosa and Miss White."

"Who's that candy eye?" Emily peeked around Jason. Then she pouted, "I said call me Emily. Why does he give you sugar?"

Twisting his head, he watched Robin, hands in pockets, staring at Alan. Ms. Ngo had a firm grasp on her son's shoulders which wasn't that difficult considering how hunched in he was. From behind him, Jason heard Rosa's soft, melodic Spanish tones, "I am over three times his age. He is too scared to refuse me."

"Abuela," Jason protested, returning to the conversation, "You mean I respect you too much."

"Tch, tch. Mijo I am not too old not to see a lie. Tell me, is he the one you found?" she inquired.

"Yes, his name is Robin. But we should head in and start setting up before Robin becomes this week's gossip."

Emily shook her head and commented, "You found him? A little gossip's good for the soul."

"Emily," Jason directed to the opposite side of the church, "let's move the tables out."

Trailing after Emily, he watched Robin's now lone figure from the corner of his eye. He stood off to the side of the church, half buried in the shadows. Alan passed him, dragging the plastic tarp to the church door. As more people filtered into the church, Jason lost track of Robin.

The front yard of the church was filled with kick-knacks and second hand clothing. A handful of mothers, aunts, and the elderly crowded the narrow stalls. The crowd was no more than two dozen people, but Jason kept an out for people with sticky fingers. In the corner of his mind, a voice nagged, _Where's Robin? What if someone recognizes him?_

A small voice added in, _What if he kills someone?_

Touching his cross, Jason shook the negative thoughts from his head. However, there was the sensation of ants running across his skin that invaded his every thought. He quickly scanned the crowd. Robin was surprisingly close, only a few paces to Jason's left. Robin was hidden along the staircase that lead into the church. Jason nearly missed Abuela Rosa next to him. Her eyes were scrunched up and her mouth from a small 'o'. Jason's feet moved independently of his body as he edged closer. His ears picked up her earthy voice, "Jason use to..."

Jason blinked. His mind whirling a thousand thoughts a minute. His sense of self-preservation kicked in. He marched over.

"Discúlpeme[6]," he interrupted, "If it is too hot for you, Abuela, I'll buy you lemonade." 

"Mijo, you don't have to."

"It is my pleasure," Jason pushed, holding out an arm. Her creased fingers latched onto his elbow. Leading her away, the concerned words slipped out of his mouth, "Abuela, what did you talk to Robin about?"

Her voice jumped as she chuckled, "Worried, mijo? I told him stories of when you were young."

Jason bit the corner of his lip and swallowed. He responded, "Nothing too bad, I hope."

She simply laughed, her voice warm and bright. Jason reached the lemonade stand and exchanged two dollars for a cup. Turning to hand the drink to Abuela Rosa, he traced her line of sight. It lead to Robin, still standing where they had left him. Abuela had her mouth fixed in a firm line. The lines edging her eyes creased in concentration.

"Is something wrong?" he inquired, handing over the beverage.

"No, no," she whispered, tucking in her chin as she took a sip, "It is just...," she paused her gaze shifting to the sky as she searched for words, "Robin, he looks familiar. He looks like a ghost."

"Dead person," she corrected herself.

His heart thudded heavily, thunder in his ears. Jason inhaled slowly and touched his cross. _Had she seen something when she talked to Robin?_

She continued, "Like one of the ones from that circus family that died -" her voice jumped, "The Graysons! The Flying Graysons. He looks like the youngest one. But that can't be. That one died four years after his parents. And his name is different."

Her voice slowly faded away, but the drumming of Jason's heart continued. He'd heard of the Flying Graysons before. They were part of the circus that use to come to town before the crazy clowns and superpowered baddies made Gotham too dangerous a stop. When he was young and not yet a street rat, he faintly recalled the red and white big top.

_It was one of his mother's good days. When she lucid enough to remember she was in charge of a three year old, she let him stumble after her as she brought the tickets. The lights were dazzling and the scent of popcorn, sweat, hay, and sugar filled the air. He was tiny and could barely see the stage so he didn't understand why all the grown-ups around him were screaming and shouting. The noise stung his ears._

It was much later that Jason learned that he was there the night that the Grayson family had died. The only survivor was a boy not much older than Jason with a funny name. He discovered that the boy had died a few years after his parents had. _What was that boy's name?_


	6. Questions

_Have you ever felt as if you were not in control of your body?_

_As if, your life was a show, but someone else was the director?_

_As if, a person lives with your name and likeness yet they are not you?_

_As if, you were pushed out of the spotlight, despite being the main character?_

_So you end up the ensnared audience as your body moves seemingly without your input?_

_The ones in the white masks had done that to him. His feet moved forward through rain, shine, snow, and sleet. His hands intimately knew the blade, slicing through flesh, severing the carotid, sliding into the heart. No amount of water could remove the rust-colored stains from his psyche. Begging voices, primal howls, pleading sobs melded together with defeated whimpering until all sounds became a single voluminous cry for life that entered ears that he no longer heard with. His vocal chords were a prop that only knew one-word confirmations: yes, understood, affirmative. His body was an extremity that they flexed. If death were the end of all independent processes, he had died long ago._

_His world was two colors. The shade that absorbs all rays, both natural and artificial, both visible and invisible, both illuminating and blinding, that absolute absence of light that lives in-between the cracks of humanity, that abyss, only second to death, that every mortal instinctively fears. The hue that shifts from bright and vibrant to dull and lifeless as it gorges itself on oxygen and has the element stolen from it, that fills the vein of all human existence, that's heat that separates the living from the dead. The former is the night in which his body moves, in the shadows in which he creeps, in the corners from which he pounces. In the hearts of whom, he draws the latter. The crimson warmth spills that faintly transfers into the body, but never touches him._

_The first color is inescapable. It lives behind closed eyes. The second color flows from the stream of life. It interrupts the darkness with its brilliance. It is there when he is called upon, a limb directed by them, a weapon in their arsenal, a tool to achieve their goals. The red comes when the white masks order, "Kill,_ [----] _"_

[----] _?, he questioned, drawing in a shaky breathe._

_Are you disobeying an order,_ [----]?

_An overwhelming buzzing invaded his mind as the word escaped his comprehension akin to a horde of wasps infesting a house. As he focused on understanding the word, a sharp pain struck the center of his brain. His temples pulsed with the endless attack from the mental wasps. His eyes watered at the concentration it took to zone in on the absence of a word._

"[----]," _one of the masked repeated, "are disobeying an order?"_

_He clasped both hands to the sides of his head, pressing down so firmly his bones ached. That pain paled in comparison to the buzzing in his brain. Cupping his palms over his ears did nothing to ease the noise. It intensified, stinging his mind._

"[----], several of his masked leaders chorused.

"[----]"

"[----]"

"[----]"

_With each utterance of the word he could not hear, the horde grew more frenzied, attacking every synapse in his brain. Plunging themselves into wildly every fleshy bit of his body, the pain intensified. Pressing his hands over his ears, he shook from the strength he put into drowning out buzzing._

_The voices of the masked individuals gradually faded. Their figures transformed into the blurry image of a man and woman dressed in blue who towered above him. He reached not even their shoulders. The woman stretched out her hand. It was soft as it cupped his head. A bright sweet warmth spread from her fingertips throughout his small body. The buzz subsided._

_Although he could not make her face, he observed the downward turn of her lips. His heart tightened at the sight of her sadness. Her fingers tussled his hair and she knelt down in front of him, matching his diminutive stature. In a vaguely familiar voice, she whispered, "What's wrong,_ [----]?"

_The noise returned with vengeance accompanied by a bittersweet and hollow sensation in his chest. A thousand of wasps swarmed in his brain, attempting to escape their bone cage. They stung and probed his nerves, sending pain into every corner of his body. The bone-shattering internal agony forced him to wrap his arms around his knees, to physically hold himself together._

Jolting awake, Robin stared at the streetlights that filtered through the blinds. A skull-splitting ache consumed his mind, erasing all fragments of a dream except the outline of a stark white mask. His joints where twinged with pain from the fetal position he was previously locked in. His brain felt as if a mob of giants had removed Robin's head and used it as a rugby ball.

Massaging his temples, Robin took deliberate and even breathes. His chest was tight from the vestige of emotion. His rib cage shakily expanded, still reeling from the emotional feedback. The slow flow of air into his lungs gradually allowed the stiff and paralyzing sensation to fade from his limbs.

Glancing down, he saw a thin rust-colored crust encrusting his forearm. It formed a circle made up from small indents. Running his tongue along his teeth, the cloying coppery taste of blood confirmed his suspicion. From the way the sleeves of his shirt clung to his bicep, Robin was still soaked in sweat.

 _I do not want to sleep_ , Robin frowned. Whatever he had dreamt of he did not want to see again.

Closing his eyes for more than a second left him with the sensation one has shortly before falling backwards in which one is completely aware of one's inertia, but unable to stop it. It was an uncomfortable and unsettling feeling that freezes his body in place, that constricts his chest, and that numbs his head with an unshakable, acute fear of both action and inaction.

Tapping out the beat with his fingers, he followed the breathing technique that Jason had used some calm him two days ago. His drew in a steady breathe for three seconds, held it for it for six, and exhaled for for nine.[7] Repeating the process several times, a gentleness softly massaged his anxiety into a tameable quantity. Having regained control of his limbs, Robin stood up.

Shifting his weight to the tips of his feet, he stepped across the bedroom and out the door. The night was full of noise: the hum of street lights, the chatter of nocturnal beasts, the whirl of electricity, and the rustling of humans. Robin followed the last sound to the living room where Jason slept.

The man was sprawled out on a couch too short for his legs. His ankles hung off the edge. His mid-section sank into the cushions as the springs failed their job. His chin touched his chest from the awkward angle formed by his head leaning on the armrest. His pillow lay under his shoulder sticking out perpendicular to the armrest.

Robin edged closer. It was probably best if he returned Jason's bed to him, especially considering the masked demons that hid in Robin's unconscious. The mere thought of them tightened his chest. Air flowed freely into his lungs, but Robin was still left breathless. Before his joints turned to stone, Robin sat on the worn-out coffee table in front of Jason.

 _Why did he wake up in pain? What had the previous Rob -_ , Robin corrected his thoughts, , _that wasn't their name. I am Robin. They are someone else. What had they done that haunted his dreams?_

Crossing his legs, Robin inhaled deeply. His fingers silently tapping out his pace: three, then six, and lastly nine. He exhaled. Two more cycles later, the awful, dense ball of nerve endings untangled. Robin kept the remaining fine threads pinned under his thumb.

Avoiding further introspection, Robin let his ears wander. They shifted toward the steady thumping of Jason's heart: **ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum.** It was an even repetitive noise that strangely comforting. **Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.** The force driving the life throughout Jason's body was the same sound that told Robin he was not alone. **Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.** Robin's heartbeat, in comparison, was an unwelcoming, labored march: **da.** It was flat appearing at half the interval of Jason's. **Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Da. Ba-bum. Ba-bum. . .**

The harmony of their natural rhythms blending together was oddly pleasing to the ears. It confirmed that not only was he not alone, but also he was existing tandem with another being. A tranquility arose from the reliable melody. It filled the spaces between Robin's anxiety, taming it.

Robin observed Jason's face. Locks of black and white hair, forming thin threads, that adhered to his forehead. Soft, small puffs of air left his mouth. His mouth bent and shifted to shape words. Slumber blurred the sounds, trapping several vibrations in his throat. The words were premature and the majority of them were only partly formed. Robin made out: "Rob- w- . . . -bat."

Leaning forward, Robin focused on Jason's intonation. Jason's mouth only released mellow wisps of CO2. Robin sifted through the partial idea, pondering, _Robin what? What did Jason mean? What did he find out?_

_Jason's deep blue eyes analyzed Robin from across several heads. Concern lined the furrow of his brow, the line of his lips, and the fingers lingering on his cross. His eyes darted over Robin's figure, dissecting him. Jason inhaled softly. From the way Jason inclined his head to the left, it was in response to something Mrs. Andrade said. His eyes returned to Robin, circling his face._

_Thud_. Jason's arm slung backwards, colliding with the armrest. That abrupt noise drew Robin to the present. The springs creaked as Jason flipped to his back, his arm cradled against his chest. His eyes briefly fluttered open before closing once more. His actions caused his blanket to spill to the floor, exposing him to the night air.

Shifting forward, Robin pulled on the material lining it up with Jason's sleeping form. Stilling at Jason's chest, Robin's fingers felt pulsing that accompanied the rhythm of Jason's heart. Twisting, Jason tugged the blanket up to his chin, pinning Robin's arm to him in the process. Jason's eyes squeezed tighter, perhaps from the temperature difference between their bodies. Jason radiated heat. It a slightly overbearing warmness that complimented the active and reliable pace of his heart.

◈ ◈ ◈

The surface shifted beneath Robin's body prompting him to jerked straight up. Opening his eyes, he was met with bemused Jason. His hair tussled, he transited into an upright posture. His arm slung laisez-faire over his bent knee. His eyebrow was cocked questioningly.

Robin pressed three fingers to his temple. He closed and opened his eyes. A bolt of surprise through his synapses. Not only did he not have a migraine, but there was an absence of the usual lingering unpleasantness from his dreams. It was the first time Robin had slept so soundly since he could remember.

"If you wanted to join me," Jason chuckled, his voice rough from the first use of the day, "you should've just asked. Sharing my bed be a more comfortable arrangement."

Flicking his eyes away, Robin noted the dull light entering through the blinds behind Jason. The blue sky was crowded out by heavy, dark clouds. The hearty rumble of thunder reached his ears mixed with the pattering of rain. A flash of light lit up the world outside.

"Crap," Jason swore, "Guess the third day's canceled and we're stuck inside."

 **Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.** Robin's ears dialed in on Jason's heart. He glanced back at Jason, perplexed at the emotional security that the man's heartbeat guaranteed him. Jason wrapped his red blanket around his shoulders, turning himself into a burrito. He gave into gravity and leaned back into the comforts of the couch.

He hummed, "This is the type of weather that makes me want to curl up with a cuppa tea and a book."

Promptly, Robin's stomach responded by howling like a dwarf who was swindled out of their moonshine.

"Pff, Guess I know what you wanna do."

Standing up, Jason kept his blanket wrapped around him as a cloak. His stature mean that it stopped just short of his ankles. He waddled across the floor as if to conserve energy, hissing as he came into contact with the chilled flooring. Robin followed closely behind. He mentally logged the slight tightening of Jason's shoulders at Robin's actions.

 _He does not trust you_ , a voice whispered in corner of Robin's consciousness, _What did Mrs. Andrade tell him?_

Robin closed his eyes, hushing the voice. As Jason placed a kettle on the stove, Robin removed milk from the fridge. Within seconds, Robin sat down at the table with a bowl of cereal. Chewing on a spoonful, he enjoyed the crunch of it. There was the added ease of preparation, unlike Jason's other meals nothing had to be heated up.

Jason sat down across from Robin moments later. His eyes slightly widened as he observed Robin. He shook his head. In a pitched voice, he commented, "You must be part yeti or something. Aren't you cold?"

Jason pulled his blanket to his neck, sealing his body in the fuzzy material. He looked like a cozy, immobile burrito. It was a sort of personal state of being that suggested kinship and trust with those in the same space. However, Robin's throat itched. Despite the friendliness of his position, Jason was perched in his seat in such a way that his hand could barely place his mug of tea on the table if he stretched just a bit. He leaned backward into the seat, adding more distance between the two. Whether it was conscious or not, Jason's body language screamed **suspicious**.

A conspiratorial portion of Robin stated, _What is he hiding from you? Other than your identity, I mean, you really are not Robin. That is just a placeholder._

A lung tearing emotion reared its head. Robin's focus shifted to taming the unruly beast twisting around in his chest. It rattled his ribs and trampled his throat. The voice did not help. It egged the beast on, feeding it: _He regrets bring you, whoever you are, into his house. He use to live on the streets and he doesn't trust you. That says something._

It whirled out of control, with its whisperings, _What type of person do you have to be for him be so wary of you? He probably considers you a burden. A deadweight eating all of his food._

"We're going to have to survive off sandwiches today," Jason said, "are you a pb&j or tuna sandwich sort of guy?"

 _What? Reply, Robin,_ he ordered himself through the emotional haze.

"I don't care," Robin forced out.

His tongue was heavy, obstructing his throat. Robin had to ignore the creeping paranoia that he would suffocate on his tongue or forget to breathe. He invested every ounce of concentration into remembering to breathe: _three, six, nine._ An ache developing beside his temples made focusing difficult. They throbbed, sending waves of numbing, indescribable emotions throughout his mind. Robin closed his eyes, zoning in on the air entering and exiting his lungs. He could control, at least, that.

_You won't feel better unless you ask him._

_I doubt he'll answer though._

Tendrils of anxiety snaked through his existence. Opening his eyes, Robin turned his attention any place but that beast in his chest. **Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.** Robin picked up the thumping of Jason's heart. Using that for a pace, Robin exhaled deeply. He counted off three-six-nine in the tune of Jason. Robin wrangled the beast down. It struggled under his weight.

 _There was no way I feel worse than I already do,_ Robin thought.

"What did Mrs. Andrade tell you?", Robin demanded.

"What?", he swallowed, the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Yesterday," Robin emphasized, "What did Mrs. Andrade tell you? I know you were talking about me."

"Oh, Abuela Rosa. No one in this neighborhood calls her by her name."

"Do not avoid the question."

"She -", Jason paused, placing Robin under a microscope with his gem-like eyes.

 _He does not trust you. He is keeping your identity from you. What other important information is he keeping from you?_ , the insidious voice hissed, _He thinks so little of you he can't even be arsed to lie._

"You are a hypocrite," Robin swore.

A storm of emotions started up in Robin. He thundered, "'You've got a chance to build a new you'."

Robin shook his head, clenching his teeth until his jaw ached. He growled, "You told me that but you still keep things from, still fear me, still don't trust because of things you know -" Robin's voice twisted turning into a hiss "about the old me. New beginning? It still looks like you're judging me for his what he did."

Jason stared at him, lip hollowed as he chewed on them. Robin closed his eyes. His anger was red hot, boiling over. His hands formed fist that were firmly pressed into his side.

 _Jason is a hypocrite. He won't tell me the truth, but be couldn't be bothered to lie properly_ , the fury in the pit of Robin's stomach was white-blue as he considered, _He doesn't even respect me enough to tell me he doesn't want me to know._

"What is my name?", Robin asked.

Jason's brow furrowed.

"Tell me who I am, and I'll leave -"

Jason held his hands up, palms flat in surrender. He articulated, "You're right. I'm not being honest with you. It isn't fair I'm judging you bested on rumors. It's going to be fucking hard to live together for a month if we aren't honest with each other. So let's be honest, let's . . ."

It was Jason's turn to be interrupted as a series of knocks echoed through the house.

"Yo, preach I know you're in there," a voice hollered, "Jason, your lights are on. I can see your shadow. Open the door."

Swallowing, Jason make eye contact with Robin. In a whisper, he stated, "We'll continue this conversation later."

Jason stood up, edging slowly around the table as if walking through a pack of starved wolves. Robin followed Jason with his eyes. Jason only broke contact when he turned to open the door. The squeaking of wet combat boots on old wooden floors drew Robin's attention to the tall, red-headed man entering the house. He was approximately Jason's height.

The man's heart sped up in surprise. He commented, "If I knew you had a guest I would've kept my mask on."

There was a certain quality to his voice that told Robin that he was not from the area. Robin turned, his eyes fixed on the quiver attached to the man's back. Jason's gaze flicked between them and he shook his head. He shrugged and puffed, "It's probably fine. What do you want Harper?"

"That's cruel," Harper quipped, placing his compact bow and quiver on the floor beside the couch, "Not even going to give me a 'how do you do?'."

"How do you do? What do you want?"

"A towel. I also fucked up my shoulder so can you look at it."

"Just stop dripping on my floor," Jason commented, "you have to wipe my floors once I'm done."

Peeling off his red raincoat, the man revealed several tattoos covering his arms. He wore a red outfit with dark accents. His hair was several shades lighter, more of an orange than a red. From the way his flesh puckered, it was obvious he had some rough times. His eyes were green, standing out against the splattering of freckles that covered his face.

He slumped onto the couch and eyed Robin curiously. Robin stared back, neither of them blinked. Then Jason returned breaking their line of sight.

"Right now, what hurts?", Jason asked as he sat down next to Roy.

"Shoulder," Harper replied than shifted his attention to Robin, "Hey, I'm Roy Harper. How'd you meet this ball of sunshine here?"

"I am Robin. Jason found me."

Roy chuckled, "Let me gues - ugh. Careful I bruise like a peach."

Jason put pressure on Roy's shoulder as Roy gritted his teeth. Jason retorted, "This isn't an ER."

"Whatever Jaybird," Roy commented, playfully.

Robin was struck by the friendly atmosphere of the room. All the tension from ten minutes ago dissipated. He was drawn back to reality as Jason muttered, "So why are you really here? It wasn't for your shoulder. It's a nasty bruise and a slight sprain but nothing you couldn't have handled on your own."

"Jaybird, I'm offended I can't believe -"

"Roy," Jason said, firmly.

"I came here for a job but that fell through because of the rain, so can I say here for the night, pretty please," Roy pleaded with a smirk lining his mouth.

Jason ran his fingers through his hair. He grumbled, "I'm not a motel."

"He can take the couch," Robin interrupted, "I do not need sleep."

"You mean, you can take the floor and I take the bed," Jason corrected, "Unless you want to share a bed."

"Great, nice to meet you Robin," Roy grinned, his teeth shining.

Jason's eyes darted between Robin and Roy. Dropping his eyes to the floor, he sighed, "How do I always need up like this? I'm running a church not a shelter."

"Aw, you know you can't help yourself," Roy heckled, throwing and arm over Jason's shoulder. Jason's face twisted into a frown with a deep crease forming between his eyebrows. Cupping his hand over his mouth, Roy asked in a stage whisper, "You didn't find him blacked out in alley, right?"

◈ ◈ ◈

The day passed surprisingly fast, perhaps aided by Roy's antics. It strange to see the usually wary and calm Jason's face twisted in irritation and frustration. It was not the sort of annoyance reserved for the person you hate but the fond type intended close friends. Robin thought he perhaps saw Jason genuinely smile once. The liveliness of Roy teasing Jason hastened night.

"I am not sleeping," Robin declared.

"Don't be a brat, you have to sleep some time," Jason groaned, crossing his arms.

"You know, you and I can share a bed and Rob can take the couch," Roy suggested, "then he can do what he wants without bothering anybody."

Jason scoffed, "I'm not sharing a room with you after what happened last time."

"It was an honest mistake," Roy commented, rubbing his nose.

"Honest mistake my ass," Jason hissed, "your ass gets the couch."

The conversation faded into an awkward silence. Roy shuffled toward the couch while Jason headed to the bedroom. Jason insisted on setting a pillow and blanket on the floor of his bedroom despite Robin's protests. It was pointless. Robin not neither the desire or need for sleep. When night came, Robin simply sat up agonized the dresser with the pillow as cushioning. The house was oddly silent, lacking Roy's laughter and Jason's quick-witted retorts.

Robin was usually alone in the house, but this silence was different. It was emptier, leaving space for Robin's mind to wander onto dangerous tangents. Instead, Robin turned to the outside world. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, he focused on the symphony of the night. Cars zoomed by, cats yowled in the alleyways, rats scampered on the roof, electricity buzzed throughout the house, Roy's deafening snores leaked through the door.

The shapeless being attempted to fill the spaces between the noise with its paralyzing touch. Robin exhaled and searched the house with his ears. The steady pace of Jason's heart acted as a sentry. The being shrank and hid in a corner of Robin. It sporadically peeked out from its hiding spot, creeping on Robin with its poisonous tendrils. The reliable **ba-bum** warded it away. It was so skittish that Robin could nearly forget its existence as long as he did not focus on it.

A new feeling replaced it that battled with the security that Jason's existence afforded him. It was a slippery, contorted creature that gnawed at Robin's sensibilities. Its secretions marked his spirit with the equivalent tartness of a eating ten limes. It was a sticky and unsettling experience. He certainly did not want to dream of the horribleness that haunted his unconscious yet his dependence on Jason's presence for Robin's piece of mind was troubling.

 _How was it before I met Jason?_ , Robin pondered, _Did the other me have nightmares?_

Who was I before Robin?

A sharp pain stalled that line of thought. Rubbing his temple, Robin instead analyzed the planes of Jason's face. He was a sharp jaw and high cheek bones, signs of traditional beauty that when he is conscious are marred by the bitter expression he keeps. He was larger than Robin, nearly half a head taller, and had broad shoulders. However, Robin was certain he could overpower Jason instantly. He did not know where this confidence came from, but Robin knew without a doubt he was stronger than Jason. The question remained: _Why do I feel comforted when he is around?_

All wanted Robin were answers. Wrapping his arms around the blanket, he drew in a breathe. He **needed** answers. Nothing else would quell the beast that siphoned oxygen from his lungs.


	7. One for One

Jason opened his eyes, groaning softly. His mind still drunk on sleep, hazy. The Sandman beckoned to him, calling Jason back to the sweet embrace of slumber. Jason stretched his hands above his, arching his back. Blinking, he rubbed the last lingering grains of the Sandman's touch from his eyes. If he had gain anything skill as a pastor, he'd learned how to get in the mornings no matter how alluring sleep might seem. Turning on to his right side, he opened his eyes.

Jason inhaled sharply, nearly jumping out of his skin. Robin's head came into view centimeters from his torso. Leaning against the bed, Robin looked as if he had been sitting when someone had tipped him over. Luck saved Robin. If he had been any higher of lower, Robin would've gotten an arm to the face or a knee to the neck. Observing Robin, the tension that usually marked Robin face was smoothed out by the Sandman's touch. Without his usual apprehensive expression, Robin appeared remarkably young. Robin was most certainly older than Jason, but when he was awake his piercing blue eyes and somber expression coupled the strict matter in which he held himself made him seem like he had several lifetimes under his belt. Asleep, the stiffness in Robin's face softened and for a moment Jason could see that the person in front of him was indeed human.

 _If the birth date on his obituary is right_ , Jason calculated, _he's thirty-four. That's only seven years older than me._

Jason frowned, _He 'died' at twelve. What happened to him in those two decades?_

Jason twisted for a better angle of Robin's face. His brain contorted it in pain, screaming his lungs raw like those Jason heard on the second night. Scanning Robin's peaceful face, Jason knew it wasn't anything someone should've lived through.

As if he felt Jason's gaze, Robin sat up. Blinking several times, he scanned the room. His focus turned returned to Jason. A small crease formed between his brow as he stared at Jason. Gaining the sudden urge to fiddle with something, Jason reached for his phone. Robin's eyes traced his movement and darted over Jason's face, pinning Jason like a fly pinned under a microscope.

Lightening the mood, Jason teased, "Is my face the only thing you're interested in?"

Robin diverted his gaze to the door. He muttered, his voice husky with sleep, "Tell Roy not to make so much noise."

 _Noise?_ , he pondered. Tilting his ear to the door, he picked up light scuffing of feet and something knocking on wood. It took an intense amount of concentration for Jason to pick up that microscopic level of noise.

Robin shook his head and commented, "It sounds like he is leaving."

Jason jolted out of bed and headed into the living room. He caught Roy with his hand on the doorknob. He mocked, "It's awkward being caught running the morning after."

Roy spun around, rubbing one hand on the back of his head. He shrugged and a sheepish expression appeared on his face. Looking just above Jason's head, he playfully commented, "You already have another man. You don't need me."

"In all seriousness, you're not going to stay for breakfast?" Jason jerked his up, questioningly.

Glancing around his living room, he noticed a stack of items atop his coffee table:a rectangle box formed the base, atop it were two smaller boxes, and a circular tube. All were odd shapes since that table never had more than a mug and a book resting on it. A light bulb went off in his head, Jason hissed, "I don't need charity, Roy."

Jason stepped forward, squaring his shoulders. Roy stepped back, trapping himself against the door. He help his arms out from his body, palms up to both signal his surrender and keep Jason at arm's length. Eyes wide, he quickly spouted out, "It's just bandages and stuff 'cuz you know I'm gonna need you to patch me up again."

"So," Jason emphasized, "I won't find any cash in there, right? Or a check?"

_He should worry about himself first._

"Nah, I know you know, no money," Roy agreed. His eyes flicked to down and back to Jason's face before he continued, " _for you._ "

"Roy," Jason gritted his teeth.

Roy rolled his eyes and huffed, "A check. It's written to church."

"How much?" Jason pressed, crossing his arms.

"Around month's rent."

"Kay, then," Jason sighed. He shifted his weight until his feet were a shoulder's width apart. Running his fingers through his hair, Jason scanned Roy's tensed expression. Shuffling back, Jason gave Roy some breathing room.

Jason pestered, "Did you stop by last night just to drop those off?"

Roy's eyebrows shot up and he shook his head in disbelief. He scoffed, "No way. I love ya man, but you're not that special. My job seriously fell through. I brought the stuff to drop by after that."

"Want to stick 'round for breakfast, now that you don't have to run?"

"Nah, someone just hit me up for a new job," he explained.

"Let me escort you out."

Jason stepped back to give Roy room to open the door. **Buzz. Buzz.** His hand shook. Jason quickly glanced down, scanning the flashing text. His screen was a violent shade of red. He called out,"Hey, you aren't heading near 10 th, are you?"

Roy stilled under the threshold. Leaning his weight on it, he glanced back. Roy asked, "No, why?"

"Red Level Alert: Poison Ivy set a giant road block with plant monsters," Jason stated, nonchalantly.

"How do you know that? Does Gotham have a disaster alert system but for villains?"

"Gotham City," Jason drew out the word and suppressed a laugh, "invest in something like that?"

Jason flashed Roy his screen. He clarified, "It's VAY. It's like WAZE[8] but with a system to account for the baddies."

Roy leaned forward. He hummed, "Is that in the Apple Store?"

Jason lifted one shoulder and dropped it. He clicked his tongue, "It's a local app anyways. Not of use for you."

Jason sighed, "Unless you plan on moving in."

Roy pounced, wrapping Jason in the rough approximation of a hug. He hummed, "You know you love me."

Jason firmly shoved Roy off. Stepping back, Roy chuckled. He rubbed the area lightly. Roy muttered, "Gotham-only? They should totally expand."

"Don't you have somewhere to be? I mean before the weather takes a turn for the worse."

"Oh crap, You're right. Tell your boyfriend I said ciao," Roy said, saluting Jason as he sprinted out the door.

As Jason closed the door, he caught the sight of a patch of sun peeking through the blinding gray sky. He locked the door and glanced in the direction of his room. The air escaped his lungs. Jason hissed, "I told you not to do that, Robin."

"Here," he commented, bulldozing ahead, "You said we would talk today."

Shifting his weight from side to side, Jason interjected, "Want breakfast first?"

"Cereal?", Robin's voice rose.

"Considering how much of it you ate, I doubt we have any left," Jason teased, "Check under the counter. I'll make some tea."

◈ ◈ ◈

His knuckles shone white against the mug.Jason took a sip of the hot, earthy liquid. Inhaling the comforting scent, he took the moment to gather his thoughts. Jason peeked at Robin from the rim of the mug. The man calming stared back at him. The bowl in front of him was empty. He sat arms crossed with a frown on his lips.

"You said we would talk," Robin stated, breaking the silence.

Unable to stall any longer, Jason placed his cup on the table. He exhaled, forcing himself to relax. Brushing his hair away from his face, Jason asked, "To be clear, you have a problem with me keeping things from you?"

At the nod of Robin's head, Jason continued, "I can't promise to always be honest, but we need to be able live together in more or less peace. For that to happen we need a certain level of mutual trust."

"I suggested that I leave," Robin interjected.

"Where would you go?"

Robin glanced at the floor, his fingers tapped out a three-six-nine beat on his thigh. Leaning on the backrest, Jason took a sip of his tea. A few minutes passed, Robin met Jason's gaze. He inquired, "What do you suggest?"

"A question for a question. You ask me a question, I have to answer honestly, vice versa," Jason explained, "As long as it doesn't counter our one-month deal, anything is free game. No lies, but anyone is free to pass on a question as long as they answer different question."

Jason paused, giving Robin time to digest the information. He added, "For example, if you asked me what my favorite color was I'd say green. That make sense?"

Robin nodded and asked, "Who goes first?"

"I'll start with something easy," Jason racked his brain for a question and lamely finished, "do you think of me?"

"Strange," Robin pondered, "It is hard to understand you but you are also very straightforward at the same time."

Gesturing at Robin, Jason passed the hat to Robin. The man's fingers tapped leisurely along the table edge as he considered his options. He finally began, "Why is Roy not allowed in your room?"

Jason blinked, mentally fumbling for the answer. That wasn't what he expected Robin to start off with. Chewing on his cheek, he spat out, "The short story: he left a very visible hickey and I became the neighborhood gossip for the month.

"Are you dating Roy?"

"No, he's just some punk I fed once and now he acts like he owns the place. I am bi though," Jason smirked, "That's two questions, but I'll you that one as a freebie."

"Your turn," Jason commented. Placing his arms on the table, he leaned forward.

"Why do you dye your hair?"

"Now it's just habit. At first I think I did it to impress a girl. How do you know I dyed my hair?"

"The boxes under the sink. That was a question, but now we are even."

"What did Rosa tell you about me?" Jason asked, tilting his head.

"She told me about the time you rallied all the kids in the neighborhood and started a mutiny."

"Oh just that," Jason hummed. He jerked his head in Robin's direction, a silent _go_.

"Why," Robin asked, pausing to think, "did you help me out?"

Sitting up right, Jason replied, "I already-"

"The other reason," Robin elaborated, "It is not just about paying it forward. I remember you hesitated before you grabbed me. Also, Mrs. Andrade implied you're helping out others to make up for something you cannot forgive yourself for."

Having been told that, Jason realized his fingers were tracing the outline of the silver necklace. Dropping his hand, Jason closed his eyes. A blinding smile, warm hand, and hearty voice danced through Jason's head and were replaced with an empty house and a cheap, black coffin.

"Half of it is paying it forward," Jason started, "The other half is honoring-"

"Jerome, the priest that picked me up," Jason paused, suddenly at a loss for words. He swallowed, forcing the whiplash of emotions down his throat. His fingers tightened around his cross until his hand trembled partly from the immense tension and partly from the pain. The sharp ache was good though, a distraction from more intense feelings that Jason thought he had laid to rest years ago. Jason finished, "He died helping others."

Biting his cheek, Jason added on, "And I wasn't there."

Jason leaned forward, forcing a laugh, "I guess it's my turn."

Matching Robin's pace, he asked, "Why do you want to leave?"

"I do not understand why you want me to stay," Robin began, his fingers tapping in patterns of three along his lap. 

"It was more straightforward," he coughed, "there."

 _There?_ , Jason questioned, but kept his mouth shut. Robin's clouded eyes and careful breathing suggested that it was a taboo topic. Robin remained silent, his chest visibly expanding and contracting in a deliberate, calibrated breathes. Jason took a sip of tea and waited.

"What did she tell you about me?" Robin commented in a sounding breathless huff.

"She said you looked familiar like someone that died," Jason hesitated.

 _She didn't tell you his name_ , a fraction of him whispered.

Another empathic part of him countered, _it feels like shit not to know where you stand with someone. If they'll turn tail and stab you in the back. Always questioning ulterior motives. Do you want to be **that guy**?_

Brain generated several rationalizations for either side of the argument, spitting out _'what ifs', 'it's best', 'it's for his own good', 'it's what he wants', 'it's what he needs'_. Weighting out the options in his head, he settled on transparency. He stated, "I looked him up and he looks like you, if you knew how to smile -," Jason joked reflexively before continuing, "His name was Richard Grayson."

"Richard," Robin broke it down into his syllables. Forming the name silently, his lips drooped at the corners. He pressed three fingers alongside his forehead, cupping his face.

"You don't have to try to remember," Jason gasped, concern lacing his every word.

Robin shook his head, dropping his hand to his side. His head tilted to the side. He stated, "Richard feels familiar, but off."

"I can't put my finger on it like I know the name, but it is not mine," Robin expanded.

"Well," Jason racked his memory and summarized, "I think an article said you were called Dick."

"Dick?", Robin muttered.

His fingers tapped out a quick rhythm. Even though he was looking at Jason, his blue eyes seemed to peer through him. His other hand rubbed the side of his head, but his face softened. His lips pulled up slightly at the corners creating a nostalgic aura. 

"Dick, my name is Dick," he whispered, "Dick Grayson."

He nodded slightly as if the name agreed with him. The skin around his mouth tightened as his lips formed a firm line. His sky toned eyes scanned Jason, dividing him into bite-sized pieces.

"My identity wasn't what you were hiding from me," Robin pondered aloud, "or that identity, Dick Grayson, wasn't what you were hiding from me."

Switching the topic, Robin inquired, "What is your next question?"

"Not my question," Jason said, "but are you going by Dick now? It'd be kind've weird to change what I call you now, but it's your choice."

He stilled. He then ever so slightly nodded, "Dick, I think I use to like that name."

"Alright, correct me if I slip up," Jason paused, "Let's make this the last question."

"No I have one more question."

"Fine, the second to last," Jason corrected, "Why do you do this?"

Jason placed his fingers flat on the table and began drumming out a three beat pattern. Dick's eyes widened and he inhaled.

"It helps," he began and cherry picked his words, "pace my breathing when . . ."

He made a vague gesture in the direction of his chest. Dick frowned, soft knocking came from his direction. He continued, "when it feels like I am falling back and the wind has been knocked out of my lungs. I know that that feeling will stop and I am breathing but it is like I am just about to hit the ground and my lungs will stop working."

"Oh," Jason swallowed. He'd never experienced something like that, but he had heard of people with symptoms like that. _Maybe I should look it up or tell Rob- Dick to look it up._

"Am I a villain?"

"What?" Jason choked, yanked out of his thoughts.

"Am I a villain?" Dick repeated carefully, "That's the only way not telling me who I am, but giving me my name aren't contradictory. And it is so important I get a new beginning."

"Pa-" Jason started. The narrowing of Dick's eyes stopped him. Jason considered, _What is the Talon exactly?_

Jason bit his cheek and questioned, _And if this was me, would I want to know?_

"Not a villain," Jason stated.

In the back of his mind, Jason heard the voices of children singing, _Speak not a whispered word about them, or they'll send the Talon for your head._

He ended, "but definitely not a hero."

"Okay," Robin commented, flicking his wrist in Jason's direction.

"Last question, I better make it good," Jason hummed, "Do you still want to leave?"


	8. You're Not Real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 8 ended up being much harder to write than I expected, especially the first scene. Because I have anxiety, the first scene was emotionally taxing for me to write. I hope y'all like it.
> 
> I also made a Twitter if anyone wants to see me screaming as I write DT in the future follow me [here](https://twitter.com/thewickling).

_Wrapped in an embrace, he buried himself in the comforting warmth. His cheeks rubbed synthetic fibers infused with the scent of dusty chalk and old sawdust that strangely soothing. A hand stroked his head, tucking his messy, curly strands behind his ears. The warmth drew away from him. Chalk covered fingertips cupped his face and tilting it up. She cradled him in her limbs. Although he couldn't see her expression, he knew a smile graced her lips. She laughed. A sweet, joyous sound that caused giggles to bubble out from his small body. Even squinting his eyes, he couldn't make out her face. His eyes were an out of focus camera, unable to discern her features. She leaned down, blurring her form even more. Her voice evoked an unrelenting yearning in him as she whispered, "You're a little too young to be out here, Dick."_

_Her lips ghosted his forehead, spreading her warmth into her body. Another hand joined, patting his head fondly, a large calloused hand twice the size of his face. Tilting his head up, he saw a man. He wore the same form-hugging blue leotard that she wore. Tugging Dick into his chest, he rubbed Dick's hair, turning into a mess of curls. He chuckled, "You got a few more years, kiddo, before you can come on stage with us."_

_Abruptly, a force tore Dick out from his parent's arms. The Earth shifted on its axis and the world shattered. Windmilling his arms, he noticed that they had doubled in size. He was older. Instead of falling into the darkness, the darkness consumed him, surrounding him with its icy touch. The world was one devouring color: black. The cloyingly and sickeningly metallic odor of blood filled the space. In a panicked frenzy, he slammed his fists on the walls. Beating on the narrow walls, he realized it came from his battered fists._

_Light filtered through a circular window. From the corner, he saw a heavy iron panel the same shape as the window. The reason why the world was dark. Outside stood three figures, each towering twice his size. Two donned black tights and a mask in the shape of a horned owl. The third stood between the first two, obviously in charge. Covering his face was a white mask imprinted with the outline of a beak. Black hollows existed where the eyes should have been._

_Muffled through the metal space, Dick heard the words, "The gray son has returned. Tonight_ [-----] _rises! Begin the process."_

_An acute, stabbing ache shot through his brain. Suffocating dread overtook that as he picked up a loud **clank.** The metal cover slammed shut, sealing him in darkness. Dick drowned as the metal conditioner heated up. The air grew arid and stale. The oxygen was stripped from his lungs, drained from his hemoglobin. Those four walls became his killing ground, coffin, and graveyard. The world went black._

_The light returned a lifetime later. When the heavy door of Dick's coffin opened, a broken person stepped out. Like a movie montage, the days slipped by. They trained him molding him into their weapon and buried him in Dick's coffin until days turned to weeks turned to years. One day, the white masks sent him on a mission. Blood stained his hands. The cooper scent lingered in his nose, bleeding into his soul. Vestigial spirit of Dick drowned in red. Dick died. The gray son, their -_

_A jabbing pain dug into his brain. The word Dick so violently tried reject struck his gray matter. It was a winged beast tearing away at his self, killing and consuming the remaining of Dick like the eagle to Prometheus. It clawed into his neurons:_ _Dick Grayson is dead._

Dick jolted awake, gasping for air. The springs of the couch creaking under his jerky movements. An overwhelming gouging sensation radiated from the center of his head, consuming his thoughts. He cradled his head in his arms, clenching his teeth to keep his screams in his throat.

Every fiber of his being stated, _Dick Grayson is dead._

Dick drew in rough, jagged breaths. A sliver of his conscious logically knew this was false, but his emotions aligned with it. His heart countered, _but what if it isn't?_

His center of emotion placed him under a microscope, dividing him into segments, reducing him into his memories, hollowing him out. The elements of his identity quantified, compared to another, and cataloged. Each part of his fragile identity placed into a neat slide and analyzed. All leading to the conclusion that he wasn't real.

 _You're not Dick_ , it declared, _people have memories. People know who they are. You only think you're Dick._

 _Even if you were, you don't remember being him,_ it continued, _Dick is dead. You're not real._

He felt surreal as the last two phrases spiraled around in his head, gaining a life of their own. Curling up, he physically held himself together. His chest heaved in shuddering gasps for air. In his hysteria, his scratched at his arms in a struggle to form a tighter ball. The mild sting of his nails digging into his flesh comforted him. Not-real people couldn't feel pain. He repeated the motion. The _skrit skrit_ of his nails running along his bicep helped muffled his out-of-control emotions. The repetitive action gave him something else to focus on.

"Rob- _Dick!_ " Jason exclaimed.

His brain retorted, _You're not Dick. Dick's dead. You're not real._

He drew in short, shallow breaths as his chest constricted, choking the life out of him. He redoubled his efforts into the small, inward clawing. His mind and heart continued to agree that _Dick was dead, so he wasn't real_.

Shifting his focus, he picked up Jason's thumping pulse: **Ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba.** The beat was a racing prestissimo to his usual even tempo. Instinctively, he matched his breathing with Jason's heartbeat. He inhaled quickly and superficially, barely gathering half a mouthful of air before exhaling. His head spun with the toxic mixture of emotional overload and lack of oxygen.

"Dick," Jason repeated, "Do you need me to grab you anything?"

_Dick's dead. You're not real._

"Talk to me. What do you need to do to help you?"

_Dick's dead. You're not real._

The rhythmic, reliable _skrit, skrit_ of nail on skin relieved a small portion of his internal strife. The increasingly burning ache a welcome distraction from the inferno that raged in his mind. The diagonal motions were something he could control.

Scratching noises of wood on wood told him that had dragged the coffee table away. Suddenly, he spotted Jason's face in his periphery, in the space above his knees. Concern etched itself into Jason's face. He edged closer until there was not more than a few centimeters between them.

"I have no idea how you're feeling," Jason started, carefully enunciating, "I can't even imagine how you're feeling, so I won't lie and say I know what you should do. I do know that you probably feel real shitty so just focus on me okay? We're - you're going to get through this."

He forced himself to nod, although he was not sure Jason saw it through his tightly wound body.

Jason commented, "Let's get your breathing under control, okay?"

Jason paused for a moment, then said, "Inhale."

Following Jason's directions, he sucked in unsteady gasps of air. His lungs begged for more as he stilled at Jason's 'hold'. His chest shook as he exhaled slowly, rattling like a wind chimes in a tornado. Focusing on Jason's directions, his breathing stabilized to a manageable pace until his head only reeled from the chanting: _Dick's dead. You're not real._

"Okay, good," Jason encouraged, "Now please give me your hands."

He curled in. Dragging his fingers across his bicep more roughly, the ache numbing his other ravage emotions. The dull burn a welcome distraction to the stifling, strangling mantra: _Dick's dead. You're not real._

"You're hurting yourself," Jason stated, "I'm asking you to give me your hands, but I won't make you."

He unclenched one fist and edged it forward.

"I am going to hold it, okay? You can pull away if you want."

Jason's palm was clammy with sweat, but extremely warm compared to his. Jason's thumb gently moved in circles, massaging his hand. Tugging it away from Dick's -he wasn't Dick - not-Dick's body, Jason tilted his face into not-Dick's line of sight.

"Just squeeze my hand like this," Jason demonstrated, applying pressure. He added, "As hard as you need, whenever you need to scratch yourself. And when you want to give me your other hand Alright, Robin? I mean Dick."

_Dick's dead. You're not real._

He clenched his hand into a fist. A soft hiss left Jason's mouth but he didn't remove his hand. Uneasily, not-Dick reached out his other hand towards Jason. The calloused palm welcomed him in an embrace. Jason slowly drew not-Dick's hands closer to him.

"Now," Jason began, "do you think you can tell why you did this this?"

_Dick's dead. You're not real._

He leaned away, pulling his hands toward him. Jason resisted, moderately. He gave in to Jason, griping the hands tightly. He heard the gritting sound of clenched teeth.

"I can't help you, if I don't know what's wrong," Jason clarified, "but if you're not up for it right now, we can just say like this until you feel better."

_Dick's dead. You're not real._

The welts on his arms itched, calling his attention. His hands gently pinned by Jason's, he lost his emotional outlet. The chanting and its corresponding emotions clogged his throat. Clamping down on Jason's hand, he heard them protest, popping at the knuckles. He eased up. Not-Dick drowned the words without anything to support him.

_Dick's dead. You're not real._

"Hey, Dick, look at me," Jason urged, "Whatever is making you feel shitty, sucks. It totally sucks. If telling me why would help, tell me. If squeezing my hand helps, do it. If there's something I can do to help, tell me. You're not alone, okay. Just don't hurt yourself."

"Dick's dead," he hissed out, "I'm not real."

His heart took that as an admittance of truth. A vortex opened within, threatening to suffocate him in its grasp. A wetness appeared under his lids, a physical representation of his fear. Not-Dick hiccuped, the syllables sticking in his throat, "I don't want to go away."

Jason stilled. His breathes hitched in his throat. He peered at not-Dick, analyzing his expression. He uneasily asked, "Well, am I real?"

Not-Dick blinked. He eyed Jason. His brain deemed, _Jason knows who he is. He has his memories. Of course, he is real._

"Yes."

"So I am real," Jason repeated.

Not-Dick nodded.

"I am real," Jason rationalized, "so if I keep holding your hand, you won't disappear."

Not-Dick considered it. His mind turned to the steady beat of his heart and how that freed him from the anxious creature in his chest. He tucked his head in agreement.

"Okay," Jason plopped on the ground and said, "I'm not moving until you feel better."

He kept his word. Jason sat in front of him bleary-eyed. His heart evened out giving not-Dick something to focus on other than the itch on his arms or the throbbing in his head: **Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.** It lulled his internal strife into a state of torpor. **Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.**

Jason's head dropped down and jerked up at odd intervals. Dick assumed that the Sandman had caught up with Jason after an hour of silence. He periodically scanned Dick's face, a pinched expression of worry twisted his features. He gently cupped Dick's hands, intermittently massaging and squeezing them as a physical reminder of his presence. The heat from Jason's digits transferred into Dick's, melting the numbing mental snowstorm. In a similar way, the thumping of Jason's heart was an auditory comfort: **Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.** A consistent reminder that Dick wasn't alone.

The surreal notion he wasn't real faded from his body, leaving behind a residual backlash of emotions. An overwrought overload of anxiety and paranoia that coated his mind, draining his mind and body. His heart still pumped off beat and a pulsing migraine touched his head. Glancing down, swollen, puckered, red welts marred his biceps. The diagonal claw marks puffed up several centimeters yet barely broke skin, only nanometer strips of skin flipped up. The area faintly burned.

_"We can just say like this until you feel better," Jason said._

Dick shifted, the couch moaning with his movements. Jason jolted up, observing Dick. He untangled his fingers from Jason's, rubbing his thumb across the tops of his appendages. Then, they pressed down on the redden welts on his arms, feeling the damage.

Jason whispered, "How do you feel?"

 _Awful_ , he thought.

"My head is pounding," he said instead.

"Want an aspirin?"

Dick closed his eyes. Head felt like someone had taken a bat to it, but the soothing nature of Jason's presence outweighed that. He opened his eyes and shook his head, smarting at the dull pain that action caused.

"Alright," Jason sighed. He ran his fingers through his hair, revealing his orangish roots. Swallowing, he asked, "Do you want to talk to me about it?"

The mere thought of last hour's event created a lump in Dick's throat, threatening to uncap his sanity. Despite the resonating pain, Dick fervidly shook his head.

"Okay, do you think you're good now? To sleep alone, I mean."

Diverting his gaze, Dick swallowed. The risk of returning to his previous state was so abhorred he'd rather stay up. If there was only a way to never sleep again. He'd troubled Jason enough, so he nodded curtly.

Jason promptly stood up, brushing the lint off his pants. His eyes darted over Dick's figure as he slowly retreated. When Jason turned, the reassuring **ba-bum** of his heart faded. Clenching his hands, Dick felt Jason's warmth fading from the tips. Instinctively, he reached out, catching the back of Jason's shirt.

Jason paused, glancing at him. Dick immediately released. A tingling bubble of shame and an embarrassment popped in his belly. Jason turned on his heels, studying Dick. He offered, "Or you can sleep in my room."

Dick opened and closed his mouth, hating the feeling of dependence.

"Hmm," Jason chuckled, "I used to sneak into Jer's room at night when I had nightmares. It's sort of refreshing to be on the other side. Grab your pillow and blanket and follow after me."

He shifted, walking slowly as if to encourage Dick to follow. Bundling up the pillow and blanket, Dick edged forward. He froze at the doorway. Jason tilted to glance between Dick, the bed, and the gap between the mattress and dresser. He suggested, "You can take the floor or we can share the bed, whichever you want."

Jason dropped into his sheets, pressing himself against the wall. It was Dick's turn look between the bed and the ground. Dropping his shoulders, his hand brushed along his arm. They were chilly, absence of Jason's earlier warmth.

Jason shared, "I used to wake up in cold sweat, dreaming of how my mom's eyes looked when I found her. Even though I refused to ever tell him, I always was grateful Jer came in just watch me or hold my hand until I knocked out."

It sounded like a silent peace offering: _I will not judge you._ Reluctantly, Dick slunk under the covers. The bed creaked as Jason flipped on his side, facing the wall. Through his back, Dick heard the lulling music of Jason's heart. Jason stiffened. Without realizing it, Dick had twisted closer to the sound, placing his ear next to Jason's broad back: **Ba-bum. Ba-Ba-bum. Ba-bum.**

◈ ◈ ◈

The vibrations of Jason's voice shook the sand from Dick's eyes. At some point in the night, he burrowed into Jason's arms. His ear laid next to Jason's chest, right over his heart. The ba-bum of its beats relaxed Dick. Jason's chin kept him in place. Still half-asleep Dick buried himself deeper into the warmth that enveloped him.

"Dick," Jason muttered, his voice pitched up half an octave, "are you awake?"

Jason shifted, pulling away from him. Unwilling to forfeit the heat source, Dick tugged Jason back with his legs, entwining them together. Jason sputtered, arranging himself. A firmness brushed across Dick's stomach and disappeared. Jason posed himself in a strange wide c-formation where his arms touched Dick as did his legs, torso, and neck. Only his hips did not.

"Shiiit," Jason hissed, then he murmured, "Dick better be asleep."

Jason's drummed out a **ba-ba-bum** pattern before settling down to its usual **ba-bum** pace. His shoulders stiffed, creating an uncomfortable space for Dick's head to rest. Jason squirmed, moving his arm underneath Dick's neck. Jason fingers laced themselves into Dick's hair. His fingers twisted Dick's hair. The movements growing broader until he stroked Dick's head. Dick let out a small purr of contentment. As his wits returned to him, Dick felt a heat flush his face. Too embarrassed to move, he faked sleep, turning his face into Jason's chest.

"Psst," Jason said, "you awake?"

"Hello?"

He twisted on the bed, groaning. Again, he attempted to free his appendages from Dick's gripe and failed. Jason muttered, "Dick awake up unless you want me to piss the bed."

Opening one eye, Dick peered up at Jason, whose face was contorted with pain. Untangling their limbs, Dick turned on to his other side, pulling the blankets closer to him to make up for lost of warmth. Jason vault over Dick, towards the door. He nearly crashed into the floor as the blankets clung to him. Jerking open the door, he dashed into the bathroom. The loud slam of the door relaying his urgency.

Several minutes later, Jason reappeared. Dick peeked from under the bundle of blankets. Jason rubbed the back of his head, a gesture that reminded Dick vaguely of Roy. Jason huffed, "Are you going to stay there all day, bedbug?"

Pushing the swatches of cloth off, Dick sat up. Observing the tense angle of Jason's shoulders, Dick blinked. Jason similarly seemed to be gauging Dick. His eyes sweep Dick in broad, lingering strokes. A minute passed, Jason stepped closer. Sitting on the edge of the edge, he maintained eye contact with Dick.

"Probably not the funnest thing to start off the morning with," Jason began, "but do you wanna talk about what happened last night?"

"No."

Jason tilted his head up, kneading his face. Dropping it, he make eye-contact with Dick. He scraped his fingers through his hair. Blowing out a tired hiss, Jason massaged his scalp. His lapis eyes flicked across Dick's face, losing clarity.

Jason admitted, "This is normally the part where I say you don't have to talk to me. And then I refer you to someone else."

He inhaled, dragging in a mouthful of air. His cheeks appeared hollow from how deeply he breathed in akin to a exasperated recreation of Munch's The Scream.

Connecting the dots, Dick finished, "But I'm not a normal."

"This situation isn't normal," Jason corrected, "but if you don't want to talk to me. . ."

Jason paused, "With your circumstances, Roy probably knows someone that can help. I can ask him, if you want."

 _I don't want to talk at all,_ Dick answered silently.

The gut-wrenching, drowning on land, mind-consuming awfulness of the previous day he didn't want to remember. It left a prickling sensation in his mind. Even considering talking to someone seemed unpleasant, especially someone he didn't know. He thought, _I want to forget it._

Jason's arm flopped into his lap. He compromised, "When, if, you feel like it, I'll call Roy, okay?"

Dick bobbed his head in agreement.

Jason shuffled closer. Holding up his palm, Jason requested, "Can I see your arm?"

Dick twisted his body. The blankets fell from his sides. Jason leaned forward, tapping the length of his bicep. Glancing, Dick saw no signs of this morning except microscopic, curled bits of skin. A slight pinkish tint contrasted with his brown pigment.

"Should've asked this first, but how do you feel?" Jason reflected.

His spirit felt like it had been thrown in a whirlpool. His joints ached ever so slightly and the insides of his eyelids were sand paper. Otherwise, he was in one piece. Dick replied, "Fine."

"Are not priest supposed to be better at this?" Dick asked to fill the awkwardness. As soon as the words left his mouth, he mentally flinched. It seemed more like a bomb than an olive branch.

"This is a personal conversation," Jason pulled in shoulders up and relaxed the. He added, "Roy hates it when I use my Father Todd voice in these situations."

Inclining his head, Dick questioned, "What's your Father Todd voice?"

Jason fixed his posture, drawing in a deep lungful of air. His expression flattened out as if he were clay and a sculptor smoothed out his imperfects. A small smile etched onto his lips and he opened his eyes. In a measured tone, he politely explained, "The one I use during sermons and mass."

His timbre was pleasant and calm yet the hairs on Dick's neck stood up. The voice and face matched Jason's. The intonation and expression did not. Jason sounded and appeared professional and courteous, but nothing at all like Jason. Dick knew exactly why Roy hated this voice.

"Stop," Dick ordered.

"Pfft," Jason chuckled, "It's the best way to repeal Roy. That and this one commercial."

"Fine," Jason grinned, "We're outta food so get up. We'll buy you some clothes while we're at it. Not that you don’t look great in my clothes, but I sort of need them back."

"I thought you were short on money."

"Roy's my sugar daddy," Jason joked.

Promptly he corrected, "He donated next month's church payment so I got a bit of pocket change now."

"Get up," Jason declared, lightly shoving Dick's shoulder.

As Dick pulled on an old, worn t-shirt two sizes too large, Jason shouted, "Tie your hair up!"

Dick frowned. The rubber bands tugged at his scalp, sticking to his hair when he removed them. The small sticks of metal, bobby pins, were less annoying, but Dick hadn't remembered how to shape a bun yet. Unwilling to ask, he pulled his wet strands into a rubber monstrosity. It pulled his hairs at the roots. Dick grimace as he formed the low ponytail.

"Are you ready?" Jason called through the door.

Dick slipped into the bare at the sleeves blue jacket that Jason had rummaged out of donations. Stepping out of the bathroom, Dick spotted Jason in a thick, tan jacket with a red motorcycle helmet tucked under his hand. Jason called for Dick to exit the house with a flick of his wrist.

A large motorcycle leaned outside of the door. The body was black with red accents that same shade as Jason's helmet. Turning, Dick saw Jason's shoulder twitch. Instinctively Dick held out his arms, catching a circular object. The helmet had the same design as Jason's only it was in a bright shade of pink with the word 'princess' scrawled across the back in glittery font. Dick looked up, raising his eyebrow questioningly.

"Roy's helmet," Jason offered as if that explained everything.

Dick tilted his head, rolling the helmet between his arms. Jason directed, "Put it on, or walk it's your choice."

Jason pulled his on. Then, he swung his leg over the side of the bike to mount it. He teasingly revved the engine as a threat. His right leg remained firmly planted on the ground. Dick tugged the pink helmet on and hopped on behind Jason. As Jason kicked off, Dick clung to the rumbling machine with his thighs.

Jason reached back, guiding Dick's hands to his waist, firmly. Dick obeyed more for formality than anything else, allowing his fingers to rest at Jason's hips. The wind whipped through Dick's jacket, lifting it up. Where his skin was exposed, a brisk breeze kissed Dick. Overcome with a sense of nostalgia, he wished that he wasn't wearing a helmet. He closed his eyes imagining the wind dancing through his hair. He opened his eyes. The city zoomed by, a gray blur.

Griping the sides of the motorcycle firmly with his thighs, Dick raised his arms. He rolled along with the bike's movements and the wind caressed his body. As they sped down the street, Dick felt like he was gliding through the air. A bittersweet burst of homesickness combined with savory, adrenaline-spiked, excitement to flood his system. Dick felt alive.

A mashed up sound reached Dick's ears. Jason tapped Dick's thigh, pinching it roughly. He grabbed Jason's sides and they stopped at a red light. Jason flipped up the visor, and hissed, "What the fuck are you thinking? Are you trying to tempt the Devil? Or to give me a heart attack?"

Now that he was looking for it. Dick picked up Jason's racing heart beat: **Ba, ba, ba, ba.** Shifting his line of sight, Dick noticed that Jason's fingers were trembling on the handles. Dick blinked and realized, _I scared him._

Dick ducked his head, focusing on the small of Jason's back. The prickling sensation of guilt scaled his throat. He barely managed to vocalize an apology before the lights shifted green.

Directing one of Dick's hands to his waist, Jason growled, "Keep your hands on me at all times."


	9. Thrift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Lunar New Year! I decided to work hard to update today. For anyone that celebrates the holiday, may you have a good health and fortune. For anyone that doesn't, I still wish the best for you. 
> 
> I've updated the [ebooks](https://mega.nz/#F!sYg3UTyD!ZOag96vmTJdv1eQ7BNjXzg) I made (including all the side stories). If anyone enjoys the ebooks and wants to make suggestions please do.

Jason parked his motorcycle in the narrow space between two closely parked cars. The one good thing about owning a bike was that it fit into two dozen and one more spaces than a car ever would. Turning off the engine, Jason glanced down at the long fingers still curled above his waist. He inhaled sharply. His heart thudding at memory of the Robin's earlier antic. Unhooking his helmet, Jason commented, "The ground awaits."

Robin, _Dick_ Jason mentally corrected himself, shuffled off, his head tilted toward the cracked asphalt. Holding out a hand, Jason gestured for Dick to remove his helmet. Hopping off, he stored the helmets under the seat. Jason walked past Dick. Glancing back, he saw Dick follow behind him like a dejected puppy scolded for pulling at their leash. A prickle of guilt poked Jason's gut.

Arguing with his emotions, Jason countered, _It's common sense not to let go when on a motorcycle._

 _What's common sense to an undead assassin boogeyman combination?_ his emotions fired back.

Tucking his thumbs into the his belt loops, Jason sighed. He gave Robin, Dick, another once over, taking the the downward inclination of Dick's head. Jason's brain interjected, _You took him out so he make him feel better, not cause another mood. Just suck it up._

"Hey," Jason stated, pausing to face Dick, "Sorry, that probably came off ruder than I intended, but -"

Stopping himself, Jason realized he was rationalizing his actions. He corrected, "I'm not angry at you."

Robin, Dick, inclined his head. His blue eyes darted across Jason's face carefully. His shoulders straightened out and he rose to his full height which fell short of Jason's nose. His head tilted to the side with a curious look etched into his face, a confused expression. 

Jason tacked on, "You surprised me that's all."

As Dick opened his mouth, he began, "You're not angry, so. . ."

Jason cut in, "That doesn't mean I approve of you doing that again."

"Anyway, let's get you some clothes. Didn't know what you like to wear so I brought you to the thrift I always go to," Jason said and then turned. Swallowing the syllables for Robin, Jason called out, "Come on, Dick."

It'd be awhile for Jason to get use to thinking of Dick as Dick instead of Robin. At minimum, he could respect Dick's choice and not vocally fuck up. He mentally repeated the name in his head. Jason peeked behind him to make sure that the man followed him up the sidewalk.

The store in front of Jason was one of the typical brick-and-mortar boxes. A red and blue light that read open sat in the corner of the large window. Several micro-cracks lined the glass. The bell rung as Jason opened the door. He held it for Dick to enter before following in. Clothes filled fourth-fifths of the store. A handwritten sign directed to the men's section on the left and the women's on the right. One corner by the counter contained miscellaneous knickknacks: board games, lamps, and other small items.

Pointing to the left side with his thumb, Jason commented, "Look 'round. I need to talk with the owner and then I'll catch up with you."

"JASON!" the man manning the counter greeted, his eyes forming crescents to match his smile. His face's roundness was akin to uncooked dough, but his skin a russet brown. His smile showed slightly yellowed teeth. The faint smell of methanol’s waffled off of him. Jason's throat itched and his tongue recalled the taste.

Jason smiled, "Nice to see you too, Jon."

A soft rustling drew his attention up. Shifting his head to peer behind the counter, a thin lady appeared. Her knobby narrow fingers wrapped around the hem of her shirt that was a tent on her willowy figure. The words Jon's Thrift pressed on the left breast pocket. Her skin was a pale shade of alabaster that contrasted with the dark circles beneath her eyes, making them appear hollow and heavy. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. She beamed, revealing chipped teeth, "Morning Father Todd."

"Good morning, Angel. How are you?" Jason greeted, fixing his posture.

A smile lingering on her face, she said, "Good. I'm volunteering at the church 'morrow."

"Are you helping Maria with the kids?" Jason asked, keeping his voice light and friendly, "She'll be glad for the help."

"Angel," Jon interrupted, "fix the women's clothes."

Angel bobbed her head, her knotted blonde curls escaping her hair tie with the movement. Quickly she said, "Bye, Father."

As she scurried away, Jason asked, "How's she?"

"Angel?" Jon hummed, "She's a hard worker. Refuses to tell me where she's staying tho'."

"So, she's still on the streets?" Jason sighed and then bit his lips. Resting on the counter, he leaned his weight onto his forearms. The space between the two men narrowed.

"One battle at a time. Speaking of your church, I got a bunch of blankets with your name on them," he recalled, pointing to the curtained off back room.

"How much do I owe you?" Jason questioned, reaching into his pocket. He dug around the lint-collectors for his wallet. When Jason grazed the synthetic leather material, Jon held his palm up to gesture Jason to stop.

Staring at Jon's sandy eyes, Jason warned, "Jon."

"Consider it a donation," Jon pushed, "it's getting colder."

"Yeah," Jason agreed, remembering how to the morning air bit into his sides, "I need to start leaving blankets on the pews at night."

Jon grinned, his eyes smiled with his lips. His eyes observed at Jason fondly. He shifted forward as if to get a better glance. In response, Jason tilted his head, questioningly.

"You got Jerry's kindness," Jon commented with a softness to his voice akin to the sound of people recalling their youth or of people recounting their dreams.

Jason shook his head, his right hand tapping his cross. His lips turned down at the corners and his shoulders shrank in. He vocalized, "I can't inherit from someone I'm not related to."

Jon protested, his tone growing firmer, "He raised you. You act just like him."

Jason flush a warmth around his collar and ears. Dropping his eyes to the counter, Jason muttered, "Thanks."

Jon pointed to Jason's left, commenting, "You better help your **mister**. He hasn't moved since you got here.."

"Hm?" Jason muttered, glancing at Dick's frozen back. Catching Jon's attention, Jason questioned, "my _mister_?"

" _You know_ ," Jon hummed, gesturing vulgarly. His brows moving up suggestively as he repeated, "Your _**mister**_."

It clicked. Jason corrected, "I'm not seeing him."

Jon shook his head. Flashing Dick an appreciative sweep, he continued, "Well, you should. He's easy on the eyes. You've got good tastes."

"Taste?" Jason inquired, immediately regretting feeding Jon's delusions.

The brown eyes lit up with excitement. The man shifted closer and whispered conspiratorially, "You have a type. Roy now him are the type that fixes up well. You need to share where you pick them up."

Jason stepped away from the counter. His brow cocked judgmentally. He stage-whispered, "Should I tell Marcos about this?" 

Jon mock hissed, "Who will you get your clothes from, if you do?"

"True, true," Jason laughed taking a few strides in Dick's direction. He teased, "I guess I need to wait until I find another shop before I turn you in."

Jon commented, "I'm just window shopping."

Jason turned on his heel, closing the space between Rob- Dick and him. Dick looked up, eyes blank. Jason asked, "Don't see anything you like?"

Dick's hands were empty and he didn't seem to be searching through the racks of clothes. Dick mouthed the words and tapped his temple: _that I like._

"I don't remember what I used to wear," Dick stated.

Jason blinked, taken back by Dick's response. He thought, _That must suck to not know who you were or what you liked._

Jason saw in his mind's eye the ground opening up and swallowing whole. His emotions lamented, _How lonely, how scary._

 _I don't want to go away._ Robin's small, unsteady voice suddenly made complete sense. Jason's heart ached. The sudden overwhelming urge to hug Dick tugged at his arms. Jason considered, _Shit. I mean worrying whether I'd live to see the next day wasn't easy, but that nothing . . . Not knowing who I was . . ._

For the first time, Dick's instances of irritability, paranoia, and unease didn't seem out there. Jason sympathized, _I don't know if I could handle that. Fuck, having someone refuse to give me answers... treating me based on not what they knew about me but rumors they heard-_

Jason drew in air, exhaling sharply. _In retrospect, I've been kinda an asshole to him,_

 _Sorta?_ his conscious nudged.

Relaying the emotional equivalent of rolling his eyes, Jason edited, _A shitty person to him._

"Well," Jason mumbled, "What does the current you like?"

"Current me?" Dick whispered, his sky blue eyes clouded over with confusion.

Jason pulled his left shoulder up in the approximation of a shrug. Jason rephrased, "Yeah, what does the current you want."

His face scrunched up as he analyzed the row of shirts in front of him. The hangers clinked together as Dick pushed the shirts from side to side. The exact same three tees moved from right to left every few seconds. A look of intense soul-searching seemed to twist Robin's lips into a frown.

Jason coughed, "Probably should've worded that better. You don't have to already know, figure out what you enjoy as you go." 

Jason tugged two plain shirts off the rack, holding them up for Dick to see. The one on his right was an reddish-orange that reminded Jason of Roy's hair. The left one matched Dick's eyes. Jason asked, "To start off, is there any colors you like or not?"

Robin, Dick, shifted away from Jason to get a better perspective. Almost reflexively, Dick hissed, "Not red."

"That's a start," Jason encouraged, "we'll ignore everything that's red. You can try stuff on to figure out what type of fit you like."

 _He must hate borrowing my clothes_ , Jason realized. Whites, blacks and grays comprised his entire wardrobe. The only elements of color were red, unless blue jeans counted as color. Considering how faded his were, it probably didn't.

Observing Dick, Jason mentally calculated his budget. Taking into account the weather, Jason suggested, "We can start off with a few plain shirts, a couple of long sleeves, maybe a handful with designs or patterns, at least two pairs of jeans or pants, one good jacket, and some sets of pjs. We can get you socks and underpants in bulk at some department store later. That sound good?"

Dick nodded, turning to shuffle through the rack. Trying not to be overbearing, Jason watched for the most part. Every now and then, he'd chip in his opinion or share a garment he thought fit Dick. Otherwise, he simply watched over Dick as he rummaged through the second-hand clothes.

◈ ◈ ◈

Watching the growing mound of peanut shells on their laminated wood table, Jason knew he made the right choice to bring Dick to Five Guys. Jason wasn't much of a fast food guy. For a guy that used to live on the streets, he had some pretty refined tastes. He could survive off greasy fast food or scraps rummaged out of the dumpster, but if he didn't have to he'd eat a home-cooked meal any day. When it came to fast food, Five Guy's level was the lowest tier he'd ideally go.

For Dick, it seemed just right as the shells formed a mountain by Dick's wrist. It seemed like he inhaled them. A mountain range formed between Jason and Dick. At this rate, Jason wondered if the food would make it here before Dick filled himself on the nuts.

Staring at the checkered red and white tiles, Jason did mental accounting. Jon had been surprisingly generous despite Jason's protests, giving them the employee's discount. Their shopping yielded six plain shirts, mostly in shades of blue, same went for the three long sleeves, two striped quarter sleeves, and one flannel. In second place were black shirts with a burst of color and patterned-prints. Dick seemed to prefer tighter fitting clothes opting mostly for yoga pants and other leg hugging pants or comfortable sweatpants. He picked one pair of low-slung jeans at Jason's insistence.

Stopping by a department store on their way here meant Dick had enough box-briefs, socks, tank tops, and undershirts to last the week. The best clothing necessities were taken care of, at least for this season. When fall came, it was a different story. Gotham experienced all four seasons unlike some places Jason had heard of. Well, at least four not account for the erratic weather alternating villain. Gotham had six or seven if you counted fear gas periods outside of fall or the other habitual weirdness that the baddies inflicted.

Shoes, although practical, were a concern he'd think about later. His wallet felt uncomfortably light enough for the day. For now, the scuffled up remnants of the Talon uniform worked. Jason pondered, _Can I even find shoes like that 'round here?_

Flicking his attention to the person in front of him, Jason also recalled how Dick seemed to subconsciously avoid gold or bronze accents. Swallowing, his mind turned to the skin-tight uniform he'd discovered Dick in. Only bronze-colored knife sheathes interrupted the sleek blackness of the bodysuit. The shoes were indiscreet black things that conformed tightly to Dick's feet, better than any store-brand shoe ever would. Jason blinked and thought, _Considering how much he seems to be hate Talon, maybe I better scavenge the money to get him a different pair. . ._

"How's it?" Jason asked, pointing at the burger on Dick's tray.

The lopsided buns more or less were complete except for a single bite. On the other hand, the fries seemed to have vanished into thin air. The pile of peanut shells seemed to grow even after the main attraction arrived. 

Popping a fry in his mouth, the corners of Dick's mouth edged up. He commented, "Tastes familiar."

"Five Guys are pretty much everywhere," Jason replied, taking a bite out of his mostly ignored cheeseburger. Last he remembered, the place was spreading from coast to coast.

The gooey cheese oozed into his mouth mixing in with the juices of the patty. From his periphery, he saw Dick eyed the food. Removing the peanuts shells with one hand, he tossed a few peanuts into the air before catching them in his mouth. A playful, open action that seemed strange coming from the skittish person Jason known so far. As he chewed, a whimsical light brightened his eyes.

"I like peanuts," Dick declared, tacking on, "The peanuts are familiar, not Five Guys."

 _Peanuts. Acrobat. Circus._ Jason connected the dots.

Withholding that commentary, Jason questioned, "Well, do you like them? Or the burger you got?"

"I guess so," Dick stated as he shoved three fries into his mouth, "it's the first burger and fries I remember eating. I can't compare it to anything."

"You've got all the time in the world to taste really cruddy stuff, enjoy the decent food while I can still afford it," Jason responded, subtracting the meal from his monthly splurge expenses. They'd gotten through what would've been two weeks of Jason's food in a little less than a week. Sooner or later, Jason needed to balance his books and set up budget meant to support to two people.

"I thought you said you had extra money this month," Dick redirected.

Jason returned, "I do. Gotta think 'bout next month: bills, food, you know anything else so we can live comfortably."

"Next month?" Dick echoed, dropping a fry into a bath of ketchup.

"Yeah, next month," Jason repeated, his eyebrows knitting up, "You didn't think I'd kick you out at the end of the month, did you?"

"Well," Dick mumbled, diverting his attention to a strip of onion that escaped his burger. A fry chased it around the red tray into a glob of mustard.

Jason breathed in, slowly, taking the time to sort his words. Jason teased, "You're amnesiac with no job experience. If I kicked you out, where'd you go?"

"I don't want that hanging over my head," Jason said. Shifting into a more serious tone, he commented, "You're free welcome to stay as long as you want, but you have to pull your weight around after a while."

Dick's mouth formed a popping 'o' before he doubled-down on eating his food. Jason followed suit, focusing his attention on dimming his stack of Cajun fries. The hand-cut wedges disappeared into Jason's stomach until the only things on his tray were white wrappers and sand grain sized crumbs.

Stretching his arms above his head, Jason proposed, "Are you up for grocery shopping with me or do you want to head home?"

"Which one is easier for you?"

"I'm the one asking you a question," Jason lightly huffed, but planned, _Food it is. If he'd pick home, I would've dropped him off and went back out._

Jason made a mental note to check his cabinet later. With two mouths to feed and a small salary, he had to better plan his meals among other things. He slightly regretted not accepting Emily's charity earlier this week. His pride as healthy but his wallet stung.

◈ ◈ ◈

Staring at his ceiling, he definitely had to budget by Monday. Maybe it was his good mood but Jason'd been indulgent and allowed Dick to pick up several snacks to try in addition to three different brands of cereal. If he kept letting Dick twist him around his little finger, Jason would be broke by Tuesday. His inner child protested, _It's a crime not to let someone try Cool Ranch Doritos or Snickers or . . ._

The wooden panels creaking outside his door interrupted that train of thought. Glancing in front of him, Dick stood in his newly acquired pj's. Unlike his day clothes, the sleeping attire hung loosely on Dick's frame for most people it would be normal. After shopping with Dick for a day, the excess fabric seemed to consume Dick. Jason observed Dick's eyes darting between the bed and the ground. Tracing that action, he realized he'd allowed a set of pillows and blankets collapse to the floor. Shifting into a sitting position, Jason reached the items, tugging them closer to the bed.

"You're welcome to join me, if you want," Jason offered, "or take the floor, whichever is more comfortable for you."

Tucking himself in, Jason turned toward the wall. Shifting closer to the wall, Jason left behind a Dick-sized vacancy. From the soft thump on near the dresser, Dick choose the floor. A rustling of blankets later, Jason closed his eyes and followed the Sandman's call.

Jason nearly rammed into the wall. Resonating vibrations suggested the intensity of his knee-jerk reaction. The sudden chill of Dick touching his back surprised him. The sensation reminded Jason of brain freeze but to his skin. Suppressing the urge to pull away, he waited for Dick to settle into the mattress. A few moments later, it felt like Dick was trying to bury his face in Jason's side. An elbow dug into his waist and a chin jabbed his shoulder blades. Jason flipped over, observing Dick's sleeping face.

 _Is he actually sleeping?_ Jason wondered. Considering how often he jolted awake when Jason entered or how his ears picked up Roy's escape attempt, maybe he was pretending to be asleep.

Dick wiggled, tucking his face into the nook formed by Jason's shoulder and neck. Jason bit down a swear word as Dick's face grazed him. In the dark, he faintly noticed the slight redness of Dick's ears. Jason smiled.

_On the days that the glassy dead eyes scared him out of bed encouraging Jason to seek refuge in Jerome's room, Jason first would curl on the floor. As the night grew deeper and it Jer stopped watching him, he'd lean on the side of the bed. The proximity reminded him that he wasn't alone. On the bad nights, when the eyes followed him into the room, Jason would crawl under the covers. Hiding from his mama's eye blue glassed over eyes, he turned toward Jer. Faking sleep to hide his embarrassment as he balled himself up tightly against the older man._

Jason tossed his arm over Dick's side, ignoring the chill. After a few minutes, the gooseflesh faded. Dick sunk closer to Jason's chest. Jason's eyes grew heavy. Their temperatures evened out, reaching equilibrium. The comfortable warmth allowed Jason drifted back to sleep.


	10. Saturday

He rolled over, searching for an absence heat source. Reaching out, Dick's met nothing but empty air. Running his hand across the bed, the blankets and pillows molded to his digits. Inhaling sharply, slumber fled his mind. Dick sat up, scanning the area. The pattering of water pinpointed Jason's location, the bathroom. Relaxing slightly, Dick's shoulders jumped, drawing inwards. Dick shifted into quiet contemplation.

 _I don't. . ._ his thought trailed off as he could not find a word for it.

The steady thudding of Jason's heart briefly buzzed in Dick's ears. That comforting sound along with his presence and manner left Dick off-center. His heart pulsed uneasily in his chest as if trying to shake off a second shell. The concept sat on his throat, slinking down from his brain stem. The slippery beast lost its form on its way to his vocal cords. He felt the idea but couldn't name it.

The degrees of difference between _dislike_ and _hate_ too slight for someone who only clearly remembered the last five days of his life. _Dislike_ and _hate_ were meaningless, subtle, fanciful concepts. He only knew how it felt. The emotional residue formed a second skin, creating an unpleasant crawling sensation. It was akin to an army of ants lining up on his flesh. He knew for sure he didn't like this emotion. Beyond that, attaching a word to this feeling. . .

Dick blew out a stream of air. Running his tongue along his dry lips, he shook his head. He pressed his fingers against the side of his head out of mild frustration. His brain was a computer with a glitch-y hard-drive, CPU leak, and limited free RAM.

 _It makes me uncomfortable to be so dependent on Jason,_ he supposed. He understood the result but not what lead to it. Blood pulsed through his temples, encouraging a headache. His brain supplemented, _How is it any different from when you were their soldier?_

_Who are they? And where did that word come from? Solider._

Images of darkness and rows of silent, faceless men accompanied the last word. The throb increased intensely, drumming through his mind. It discouraged his probing. Dick frowned, a crease forming in the middle of his forehead. Dick cupped his head in his hands, to massage away the throbbing pain. The pain redoubled at his effort to penetrate the dark haze of his memory.

"Morning," Jason called out, "cereal's under the counter, milks in the fridge or I've got bagels if you're finally sick of cereal."

"Are you going somewhere?", Dick questioned, inclining his head.

At the doorway, Jason wore a set of slightly worn at the knees jeans and a long sleeve shirt of familiar use. The last two days the only outfits that Dick saw Jason in where his clergy garments, his pjs, and a set of a plain white tee and fitted jeans. This combination of clothes didn't fit in any of the previous categories.

"Abuela needs some help with her garden," Jason explain, jogging to his dresser, "I'll be back by 2-3 for lunch."

He glanced at Dick briefly before scavenging through his drawers for socks. Gesturing in the general area of his closet, Jason suggested, "You're free to use my laptop or dig through my books. I'll be down the street if you need me. You'll know the house when you see it."

After the door closed, Dick stood up. He skim over the stacks of worn paperbacks: East of Eden, Pride and Prejudice, Sherlock Holmes Collection, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and such. The books sat next to a cardboard box from which a set of arrows peeked out. Tilting his head up, he noted the laptop case stored beside a few small square boxes. He grabbed the laptop and headed into the kitchen. Cereal prepped and laptop booted up. He opened a browser and typed into the search bar a single name: Dick Grayson.

◈ ◈ ◈

Closing the plastic laptop monitor, Dick dropped his spoon into the empty bowl. A box of cereal sat at his right elbow and milk at his left side. The dining table wobbled, threatening to tip the laptop over. Pinning the rectangular device down with his palm, he leaned into the seat.

Searching Dick Grayson wasn't helpful. The boy - he if they were right - lived such a short life, only a dozen years under his belt. As a circus child, he the only mark he seemed to leave was on the stage. The only records of his existence that Dick found were an obituary, mentions in the Haley's Circus promotions, and in the articles covering his parents' and then his tragic death.

Closing his eyes, Dick tried to imagine the wooden pole between his fingers, his body swing through the air, and the sound of an audience. _Nothing._ He opened his eyes and frowned. Staring at a picture of the smiling boy dressed in blue, whoever Dick Grayson was, he didn't remember any details of that boy's life. The names of his acquaintances felt vaguely familiar in the same way identifying as Dick Grayson did like being thrown into the middle of the ocean and realizing that you know how to swim.

Sensation of treading water even though you are swimming well was horrible because at any moment it felt like you would forget to or stop swimming. Dick rubbed his face, blinking slowly. Regardless of what Jason told him, not knowing who you are is unsettling like you can vanish any second.

Tapping his fingers along his lap in groups of threes, Dick breathed carefully, a proactive measure. Opening the laptop, he searched his symptoms: shortness of breathe, paranoid, nerves, nightmares, difficulty sleeping. Several mental disorders flashed up in the monitor. He clicked several of the links, settling in to compare the lists of symptoms.

A terse half hour later, he drummed his fingers next to the keyboard. Nothing fix perfectly, but his memory loss may have been a factor. If he had to say one, anxiety fit best, but his reactions seemed extremer than those listed. To him, he seemly felt broken. He closed his eyes and say to himself, _Anxiety._

The term fit uneasily in his heart. A disconnect existed between him and that concept. It didn't right, but nothing felt right. All his experiences fit into five days. Who he was, what he knew, and how he felt were all murky illusions. Inhaling sharply, he realized that he alone. From the way his nerves wormed and squirmed, that was not a good idea.

_Jason's voice echoed, "I'll be down the street if you need me."_

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Dick closed his eyes. Drumming on his thigh, he mentally stood between a rock and a hard place. The overwhelming wave of anxiety hovered over the horizon cornering him on his dependence on Jason's presence. Hissing, he powered off the laptop. Jumping to his feet, he headed toward the bedroom.

After deliberation, he considered, _I'd rather cling to a rock than drown._

Digging a pair of yoga pants from the draw Jason freed up for him, Dick quickly changed. In three minutes, he headed down the street, physically running away from his emotions. Skimming the street, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up akin to the hackles on a cat. His brain shouted, _Someone is watching me._

He quickened his pace and squared his shoulders. Then the gaze disappeared as a voice called out to him. Looking to his left, he almost passed Jason who was knee deep in foliage trimmings. He leaned his arms on a rake. Behind him, Mrs. Andrade knelt in front of garden. She wore a knee-length skirt and a long sleeve shirt. A long-brimmed hat covered half her face. She waved at Dick. Turning to scan the horizon, he turned back to face the two.

Jason opened the metal mesh gate, gesturing for Dick to enter. Pointing toward the house with the tip of the rake, Jason commented, "The house was easy to find wasn't it?"

Dick blinked, observing the house. The dull brown and white house was a squat, one-story rectangle. A few shingles hanging off the edge of the roof and the micro-cracks on the walls were like other four or five hours on this side of the street. Other than a better maintained garden out front, there was no difference.

Dick shrugged.

"Hello," Mrs. Andrade greeted, "Did you come to help?"

She held up a pair of small pliers in her gloved hands.

"Abuela," Jason teased, "He barely came and you already want to work him to the bone."

"Tranquilo[[9](../Text/Endnotes.xhtml#Notes9)]," she scolded light, taking away the bite with a soft, "mijo, I am asking Robin, not you."

Dick exchanged glances with Jason. Injecting on his behalf, Jason corrected, "His name is Dick. Robin was a nickname."

"Okay, Dick," she commented, pointing at Jason, "Take the rake and clean up. Jasoncito[[10](../Text/Endnotes.xhtml#Notes10)], come and help me." 

Jason handed the rake to Dick before kneeling in the dirt. Dick's eyes darted between their figures and the bushes that loomed over them, stopping short of the house's windows. Small yellow, orange, and red buds filled the bush.

"Rose brushes," Mrs. Andrade answered a question that Dick have not asked.

"They are why people call me Rosa," Mrs. Andrade explained, a fondness filling her voice. She reached up to touch the bush, the leaves shook slightly.

Jason nodded and added, "Regardless of dry seasons or annoying crooks, you can trust that Abuelita's roses will be there every year." 

Her tone softened, "I grew them with mi mama. Mi mama grew them with her mama."

She shifted in the dirt, tugging cutting out small offshoots of the brush. Jason worked quietly next to her, tugging out leafy plants. Dick dragged the rake across the grass, gathering small branches and weeds in a neat pile. The repetitive motion distracting him from his earlier potential, earlier overflow.

◈ ◈ ◈

Glancing at the sky, the sun sat pass the midway point. Noon had passed long ago, but pruning and yard cleaning had kept Dick's mind busy. The sweet and spicy mole on rice was delicious lunch bonus. He placed on hand on the gate, turning to check for Jason who stood halfway between Dick and the front the stout house.

"I'll see you tomorrow at service," Jason waved at Mrs. Andrade, spinning to face the street.

"No, no," she quickly scolded. Hopping off the steps, she walked up to Jason until there was only a few inches between them. A weighed plastic bag swung at her side. Jason stepped back.

"Mijo," she warned, holding the bag up, "for your help."

"Gracias," Jason responded, taking the bag. He gave the bag a cursory glance and smiled, "Tomatoes. Mucho gracias." 

As Jason attempted to leave again, she cleared her throat pointedly. Holding open her arms, she said, "Jasoncito."

Placing the tomatoes by his feet, he leaned down to give her a hug. When she kissed one of his cheeks, he copied the motion on the other cheek. Picking up the bags, he softly said, "Goodbye, Abuelita."

A few moments later, Jason joined Dick at the gate and down the street. Peeking back, Dick's eyes darted from the bag of tomatoes to Jason's face. Sitting on the tip of his tongue, Dick asked, "Is Mrs. Andrade your grandmother?" 

Jason shook his head. Running his free hand through his hair, Jason explained, "She basically helped raise half the block, kept an eye on us when the other adults were busy."

"I grew up two blocks over, but I apparently lived her with my parents until we moved away when I was six," Jason pulled his shoulders up, uncertainly before continuing, "she definitely kept me out of hot water when Jer picked me up."

He paused. Facing Dick, Jason stated, "I keep talking you to just call her Abuela Rosa. Just about everyone on this block does. Most of us don't even remember her first name."

"What is it?" Dick inquired.

"Um...," Jason hummed, staring at his feet, "It's. . . I know it's a biblical name. Not Eva or Teresa."

Snapping his fingers, Jason exclaimed, "Mary! Maria! It's Maria, but no one when calls her that. I am pretty sure even her grandkids all her Abuela Rosa."

Jason lifted his elbow to read his wristwatch. His gem-like eyes narrowed. His lips pulled in as he chewed on them. Jason asserted, "It's 2:30. We have to hurry home so I can have enough time to cook and eat before I prep for Saturday Service."

Spinning on his heels, Jason briskly marched toward the church, tomatoes swung wildly at his side. His feet formed a rushed beat on the concrete. Dick followed easily behind him. Only falling behind, when he obeyed his instinct to scan the horizon. His muscles tensed as he turned to follow Jason to the house. He periodically looked to the sky as his gut told him something was off.

The sensation faded when they entered the house. Jason quickly deposited the bag of tomatoes on the dining room table. Dashing to his room, Jason grabbed clothes before heading into the shower. In the middle of Jason's mad dash, Dick observed the room. His sixth sense itched.

Entering the bedroom, Dick snagged Jason's laptop. Briefly scanning the room, he headed into the living room. Placing the machine on the coffee table, Dick sat on the edge of the couch. Tapping his feet, he waited for the screen to boot and quickly searched paranoia and anxiety. The first site that appeared was Wikipedia. Scrolling down, he opened the next seven results.

Stiffening, Dick heard Jason circle the coffee table. Leaning, he glanced at the laptop screen and then at Dick. Plopping onto the couch, Dick heard Jason's heart nervously pattering: ba-Ba-bum.

"Paranoia and anxiety?"

 _Someone's watching me,_ Dick's gut answered.

That sounded, well, paranoid and crazy in the same way 'I am not real' did. Before vocalizing his concerns, he'd like a moment to stew in them, a chance to think it through. Dick fibbed, "I wanted to understand my nightmares."

"Oh," Jason's mouth popped into a circle, "You should consider looking up coping techniques or calling Roy and seeing if he knows some discrete is always an option."

"I will keep it in mind," Dick said, closing the conversation.

Pushing himself off the couch, Jason asked, "Do you have a problem with chili? Abuela Rosa gave us a ton of tomatoes so we might as well use them."

"Five days," Dick reminded Jason.

"Oh, right. I guess we'll know when you try it."

Close to four-thirty, the room filled the hearty scent of beans, beef, and spices. Dick's stomach responded by growling. Combing his hair away from his face, Jason chuckled. Pointing to the kitchen with his comb, Jason declared, "You're welcome to eat. I'll join you in a second."

Ladling the chunky, stew-like food into a bowl, Dick sat in his usually seat. He placed a spoonful into his mouth. The chili certainly tasted substantial with the texture of the beans and ground beef. The tomatoes added a welcomed sweetness to cut the meatiness. Swallowing, the back of his mouth heated up. Digging through the chili, he saw thinly chopped, orange skin of a habanero pepper.

The ground protested as Jason pulled his chair open. Sitting across from Dick, Jason held a bowl of chili in one hand and a small container in the other. Dick's eyes widened when he realized it was more chopped pepper. Jason sprinkled it on like black pepper and mixed it in. He ate the meal like it was mild.

Pushing the palm-sized container across the table, Jason asked, "Want some?"

Dick shook his head. The current-level of heat was pleasant and tolerable, adding more seemed like a mild form of torture.

"Is it too spicy for you?" Jason inquired, eying Dick's chili with a worried expression.

"No."

"Okay good. I wasn't sure how mild to make it because if I can handle a decent amount of spice, so I made it double the spice-level of Lian's."

Jason continued, "I have to leave in a bit to prepare for evening service. If you want, you can watch, but I don't know how interesting a sermon is going to sound."

"Aren't priest supposed to encourage people to go to church?"

"You're an amnesiac," Jason countered, "how is forcing you to go to church any different than indoctrination or just plain rudeness? The Church will help you if you want it, but I'm not going to force you to go. It's not for everyone."

"I'll go," Dick replied, half out of curiosity and half out of concern. Unpleasant thoughts caught up to him when he was alone.

Jason commented, "You're welcome to observe. The doors open at five-thirty."

Reading Jason's wristwatch, Dick noted it was four forty-five at the moment. When Jason glanced down, he jolted up and reached for his black robe. Pulling it over his pressed, collared shirt, he fiddled with the neckline until it fit probably. He briskly walked in the direction of the door, he paused.

"Can you please wash my bowl for me?"

At Dick's nod, he jogged out the door. Staring at his empty bowl, Dick calculated thirty-five minutes before he could reasonably leave the house and enter the church without being excessively early. He turned to the pot of chili and stood up. Eating would kill at least ten minutes.

◈ ◈ ◈

Despite arriving early, Dick stood in the back in the left corner. Something about having full view of the room smoothed Dick's nerves. Jason was a distant figure hovering over a podium in the front. Once he started speaking, he moved along the front. Even without a microphone, his voice echoed through the rectangular room.

Barely focusing on Jason's word, Dick observed the manner in which Jason spoke. His voice circled the room, clear and well projected without being loud. No slang or abbreviations littered his sentences except for momentarily, brief shifts of language to engage his congregation. His tone felt polite and friendly.

His posture changed to match his speaking patterns. His back straightened out to his full six feet two inches. His shoulders equally expanded to their full width creating aura of authority and confidence. His stride shrank into an even pacing that allowed him to cross the width of the church comfortably and unhurriedly as he spoke. He seemed at peace as if he were having a conversation with around seventy people.

The difference between Jason normally and in his clergy garments seemed to mainly be a manner of aura. Despite his normal roughness, Jason was approachable. Father Todd, in contrasted, was polite but there was a certain distance to him. Dick could read in the minute twitches of his face, that Jason filtered his words more carefully when in his Father Todd persona.

Having cataloged Father Todd's demeanor in detail, Dick turned his attention to the crowd. Composed mainly of individuals under fifty-five each dressed in fine clothes, they sat their hands inclined to pick up Jason's voice. A few of the younger ones, Dick noticed peeked at their cellphones. The bright back-lit screens harsh contrasted to the half candle-lit room accompanied by orangish lights along the edge of the room. As for the families, he counted six or seven with children under ten. Two kids slept, the other fidgeted in their seats as their parents attempted to control them.

Closing his eyes, the lack of pain in his head suggested to Dick that he had never been Christian or perhaps just never in a church. This moment, this memory, was his and his alone. The brief amiableness faded when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His instincts told him someone was watching.

Dick scanned the crowd, searching for the source of his discomfort. From his periphery, he noticed a cloaked figure slip out the door near the podium. Dick's peace gone. He rolled the possibilities through his head: _who was that?_


	11. Turbulence

Jason hesitated as he entered the room. Dick sat eerily still, leaning on his dresser. A pillow sandwiched between his back and the handles of the drawers. He held his head at an angle to face the window. Turning for a second to scan Jason, his head just as quickly returned to its one-quarter position.

"You know, you're welcome to head to bed first," Jason commented, maneuvering the tight space to his bed.

Dick glanced at him, his sky colored eyes clouded with an emotion Jason couldn't read. His chest rose and fell in a laborious breath. In a half-whisper, he stated, "I'm not tired."

"Okay. Don't stay up too late," Jason replied, edging toward the wall.

He closed his eyes. Flipping over, his arm flung wide and hit the springs of his bed to bounce up before resting on the cold bed. Instinctively, he pulled his arm close to his body. Shielding his arm away from the cold. His brain told him something was off. He touched the other side of his bed.

He touched the bed - what was wrong was that? The sheets crinkled under his palms. An unwelcomed chill crept up his fingers. Reaching farther out, his hand met air. Not that, that surprised him. His narrow twin bed barely fit his feet if he curled up into a ball. Jason opened his eyes a crack. The space next to him was empty.

A light bulb went off in Jason's head. There was a Dick sized gap beside him. Scanning the darkness, he inhaled sharply. In the dim light, Dick's dull pallor and unmoving body matched the liveliness of a cadaver. In his mind's eye, Jason saw bloodshot, glassy brown eyes watching him from the shadows, his mother's eyes.

If he watched carefully, he could see the slight rise and fall of Dick's chest. As if responding to Jason's internal concern, Dick turned to Jason and opened his eyes. Jason's mind compared the clear blue to the dull brown that haunted Jason's nightmares along with sickly green skin. Dick's spheres had a light to them, an intensity, that the eyes that watched Jason from his nightmares didn't.

Dick's eyes darted from Jason to the window. His inclined head made it seem like he was listening to something off in the distance. Jason swallowed as still figure in front of him reminded him of a deathly still form his youth except this was upright and wrapped in blankets. Looking again, Dick's still but alert figure was nothing like her stiff lifelessness he'd once seen as a child. He was charged, a tightly wound spring, where she was petrified, an abandon doll.

Pushing up on his forearms, Jason stretched to drag his cellphone off his dresser. The luminous numbers read 5:45 AM. Widening his eyes, he stared at Dick who stared trance-like at horizon. He checked the time again. Rubbing his face, Jason flipped onto his back. Blinking slowly, he did some important calculations. Morning service began at eight but he had to finish setting up by seven. Jason questioned himself, _Would I wake up if I when back to sleep?_

His eyes said yes, but his experience told him no. He instead continued observing Dick, whose pallor was strangely pale in the glow of the cellphone back light. The skin darkened under his eyes and tightened around his the edge of neck. The branching veins and scars stood out against this skin. It'd be a while since Jason had seem them, perhaps a listless night had made them more prominent against Dick's earth tones.

Jason glanced at his phone which now read 6:05. With a sigh, Jason wriggled into a sitting position. The brisk morning air encouraged him to pull his blankets to his chest. Clearing his voice, Jason asked, "Did you sleep at all?"

Dick flicked his head slightly to observe Jason. In the same movement, he shook his head. He finished the action by arcing his neck to face the window. He watched something out of Jason's line of sight.

Jason blinked slowly. His past overlapped with the presence with the present scene. He saw a skinny teen with a shock of red hair staring off into the distance. Jason swallowed when he thought of the hollow eyes that would stare back some days, on the bad days. Jason recognized that solitary figure in Dick's sentinel-like posture.

"Do you want to talk 'bout?" Jason asked. A yawn interrupted his words.

Dick's blue spheres darted from the window to Jason's face and back in a nearly unperceivable tilt of his head. Jason waited, stretching his arms above his head. Then, he arched his back to chase the sleep from his limbs. He shifted perpendicular to his bed, planting his feet last quarter of unoccupied flooring.

Jason added, "You don't have to talk to me, but don't make a habit of staying up nights."

"I don't think intended me to sleep as much as a person," Dick muttered.

_They_ , Jason questioned, banishing the thought at the drumming of Dick's fingers.

Jason directed, "Well, people have more than just material needs. You're welcome to take the bed. I have to prepare for today."

He stood up. Vertigo sent him off to the left. Before he could react, a freezing hand tugged his arm. The sudden change in inertia sent him straight into Dick's arms. The approximately five foot eight man supported Jason's weight easily, barely rocking as Jason's full weight slammed into him.

Jason's mind slowly processed his current position. Griping Dick's shoulder for support, he straightened up. He inhaled deeply, blinking as the dizziness left his system. Through the tips of his fingers, Jason felt Dick's sluggish heart jump a few beats before settling into its default march.

Releasing his hold, Jason chuckled, "Good thing you caught me. A priest walking around with a bruise on his face isn't the best image."

Dick watched the space above Jason, following something Jason couldn't see. Lowering his gaze to meet Jason's eyes, his brow knitted up. The sky-colored orbs jumped to Jason's waist. His brow rose, forming a high arch.

"Don't you have to get ready soon?" Dick asked.

Following Dick's light of sight to the glowing cellphone, Jason read the time: 6:21. The air left Jason's lungs in an exasperated hiss. Jogging to his closet, he pulled off his pressed slacks and collared shirt. Then he sprinted into the bathroom. The only thought in his head was the repeated line: **Fuck**.

He mentally planned, _Five minute shower. Five minutes to dress. Drink water. Run to the church and let the others in. Finish setting up by seven. Remember which - Wait! First the toilet._

◈ ◈ ◈

"Wait," Dick called out to Jason as he exited the bathroom, "I'll go with you."

Stilling, Jason turned to watch Dick button up a light blue collared shirt. While Jason was in the shower, it seemed like Dick had dressed himself. The collared shirt and dark pants combination certainly wasn't Sunday morning attire, but it stood levels above the yoga pants and form hugging tees he usually wore. Jason's church couldn't call itself the traditional in any case.

"First service doesn't start until 8:00 and second service starts at 10:30 you know," Jason pointed out.

Undoing the uppermost button, Dick nodded.

"Whatever floats your boat," Jason responded, shrugging.

Digging around in his pockets, he fished out his wristwatch. The scratched up timepiece read 6:35. He wrapped it around his wrist and then marched out in the direction of his church. He almost forgot Dick until he paused to insert his key into the backdoor. From his periphery he noticed a shadow barely out of sync with his own. 

As Jason entered the wide space, Dick slipped in behind him. Jason paused, turning on all the lights. Giving the space a cursory glance, he walked his right. Following the wall, he stopped in front of a small door, the supply closet, and grabbed a broom and dustpan. Jason gestured for Dick too sit and stay of his way.

Jason didn't have to arrive so early or sweep, but these had been built into his ritual now. The process of gathering and clearing up all accumulated dust and litter relaxed him. Something to focus on other than the fact he was about to speak in front of a group of sixty to seventy people not once but twice today. It also reminded him of the days he'd watch Jer's specific tendency to march the pews a thousand times, tidying up. He'd wake up long before anyone would arrive and analyze the aisles endlessly until a parishioner arrived.

Putting away the dustpan and broom, Jason surveyed the area. His eyes lingered on Dick who near the main door, opposite the podium. Dick's gaze scan the empty room. Biting his lip, Jason wondered, _Why's he so. . ._

The word escaped Jason. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something felt off about Dick since yesterday's service. This morning clinched it. Dick stood too straight. His face too expressionless. He appeared more statue than man. Inhaling, Jason realized he hadn't seen Dick take a breathe in last few minutes. A light bulb went off in Jason's mind. Jason saw the wounded person he'd discovered last Sunday: the distrusting, paranoid, skittish Dick. The stiffness of Dick's posture was akin to a coil stretched out to its limit and ready to snap from the tension.

Concerned, Jason stepped toward Dick. He blinked as the doors of the church pushed open. Abuela's shawl pinned shoulders peeked in the door followed by a few other early birds mostly elderly. He drew in a careful breath and relaxed his face. He reorganized his expression into a small smile. Continuing to the door, Jason held it open for those still entering.

Watching Dick from his periphery, Jason welcomed the church-goers. He'd lost the moment to speak to Dick. He made a mental note to talk to Dick when they got home. Normally, service went by in a flash. Today it felt longer. Jason walked along the front row, speaking from memory. Jason fixed his attention on Dick as he spoke. As he turned and walked the width of the church, he kept Dick's figure in his periphery.

As he spoke, he noticed the door open a crack and a small crouched figure enter. A teen around Jason's height took the space next to Dick. When Jason turned back, he saw the teen, Gabriel Jason thought, lean down to whisper something to Dick who shook his head in return. Gabriel pinned his arms over his chest. His brow furrowed as he glanced up at Jason. He muttered something to Dick again. For the first time during the service, Dick shifted away from the front.

When he finished the service with a joint pray, Jason waited exactly two minutes for people to be gain leaving. Curiosity then motivated Jason to briskly walk pass all the congregation to Dick and Gabriel in the back. People had different reactions to a priest heading straight in their direction: some greeted him openly, some gained a look of sheepish guilt, and some widened their eyes like they had been called to the principal's office. This is the first time he'd seen someone flinch and search for a hiding spot.

Backed literally to a wall, Gabriel stared at Jason fearfully. Jason blinked. Arranging his mouth into a polite smile, he slowly closed the space between Gabriel and him. Ignoring how the teen flinched, Jason angled himself to face Dick.

"Are you tired of listening to my voice yet, Dick?" Jason asked, his tone more playful than usual in his clergy attire.

Shifting to face Gabriel, Jason opened his mouth. Before a single word left his lips, a battered book was shoved in his face. Jason blinked taking in the worn black cover and a gold lettering. It took a moment for Jason to read Holy Bible emblazoned across the paperback sized tome. His church owned a stack like this for Scripture readings and Sunday school.

"I'm sorry," sputtered Gabriel.

Taking the book from the teen's square hands, Jason paused. He gave the tome a cursory glance. Opening the cover, he read the label pressed into the back of it: Property of. . . He took in Gabriel's nervous expression from the corner of his eyes. Carefully deliberating his words, Jason took a deep breathe. He closed the book.

"I am not angry," Jason started, holding up the tome, "but why did you take this?"

Gabriel ducked his head, staring at the ground. The teen's shoulders turned in and his spine leaned forward. His hands entered his pockets. Despite his six foot frame, Gabriel felt no bigger than a mouse. To give Gabriel, Jason stepped back. Before moving, He glanced behind himself to ensure that the space was clear. Except for a few stragglers and the handful of volunteers, the church only held the trio.

"I [------] to [-----] how to [----]," Gabriel muttered.

Having missed half the words, Jason asked, "What?"

Jerking his head up, Gabriel quickly explained, "It's dumb, but I took it 'cuz couldn't catch all you said last service but the story sounded interesting. I shouldn't've taken it. Dumb of me to take it, I can't even read good. I'm so -"

Jason held up the Bible, gesturing for Gabriel to stop. Reaching for the teen's hands, Jason placed the book into Gabriel's hands, closing the square hands over the book. A skinny boy crouched over a book reading with the flickering light of a nearby street lamp flashed through Jason's head. 

"It's yours," Jason stated, empathy welting up in his chest.

Gabriel's mouth dropped. His eyes jumped from the cover of the Bible to Jason's face and back several times. His shoulder collapsed into his body once more. His left cheek went concave. His lip curled in as he chewed it. He shifted the book uneasily between his palms.

"I can't read very good," Gabriel responded.

Jason supplemented, "Well, you can learn and if the Book can help you, then it serves as good a purpose as it did here."

"No one to teach me."

Jason blinked. Dropping his voice, he questioned, "Gabriel, are you not in high school?"

Abruptly, Gabriel diverted his gaze. His eyes darted away every time Jason made an attempt to make eye contact. Skimming his plain dress shirt and jeans, Jason noticed the worn out, patchy nature of Gabriel's clothes. The rough scent of cheap, store-brand soap jogged Jason's memory of stripping down in a public restroom to rub dollar store body wash until he could see his skin for the first time in days.

Swallowing, Jason offered, "Everything you tell me is between us and God."

Peeking at the silent Dick, Jason joked, "And that Dick."

Gabriel chuckled, "Can priest say things like that?"

Making a show of looking around, Jason answered, "Am I on fire?"

"Gabriel, you can talk to me," Jason added, dropping his tone, "I swear I won't share anything without your permission. And I think Dick would leave if we asked."

"He," Gabriel paused, "can stay. I try to go to school. Make it most of the time, but I can't keep up between work and finding food."

Gabriel lifted the book and pushed it toward Jason. He declared, "I don't deserve this, can't understand half the words, anyway."

"I see," Jason vocalized, deliberately placing his words, "I disagree. You will never learn to read well if you don't practice. Actually, think we have a few books in the donation bin you can take."

"Why?" Gabriel replied, the word echoing in his chest with surprise.

Arranging his thoughts carefully, Jason answered, "I remember how rough it can get."

"You..." Gabriel's voice trailed off.

Jason supplied, "I didn't always have a roof over my head."

"I stole it."

Do you regret taking it?" Jason asked and continued after Gabriel's nod, "If you're repenting, then punishing you for it will unnecessary double jeopardy. It'd only hurt your desire to learn."

"Let's get you those books, before the second service starts," Jason smiled.

The teen opened and closed his mouth multiple times before he settled on, "Thanks."

Jason turned, walking pass the empty pews. He slowed for a second to check that Gabriel kept up with him only to catch sight of Dick in their shadows. Jason led the two pass the podium and into the back area. Turning to the right, Jason entered a narrow room. Cabinets and a sink took up the width of the room. Cardboard boxes were scattered along the left wall. A long fold-out table took up the center of the room.

Sorting between the boxes, Jason pulled out a stout book filled with odd books. He walked over to the table and dropped the box in front of Gabriel. As Jason tore off the tape, his cellphone vibrated. Jason dug through his pockets, pulling up the rectangle. The alarm read: Second Service in 20. 

Peeking at Dick, Jason suggested, "Dick can you help Gabriel sort through the books, while I head back out front? All you have to do is mark off what was taken before either of you leave."

Dick scanned the area slowly before he nodded.

Patting Gabriel's shoulder, Jason said, "Take as many as you want. Also, the doors are open if you ever need a warm place to sleep."

◈ ◈ ◈

_You'd think not having Dick around would mean I can focus on speaking_ , Jason thought wryly to himself.

"And I stood there frozen watching this horrible scene unfold in front of me."

As Jason walked across the front of the church, a portion of Jason's mind wondered how Dick handled Gabriel vice versa. He caught himself once or twice turning in the direction of the back room before he adjusted to face a different portion of the congregation. _Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock._ Time passed slowly.

"My first thought was to do what was easier for me. Then I paused and asked myself a few questions," Jason said, holding up his fingers, "What would I want someone to do my place?"

A few of the congregation stirred in their seats, checking their watches and phones. Picking up on the listless air, Jason simplified his ending statements. Stopping in the center, Jason skimmed the crowd. A handful of people obviously edged forward on their seats, ignoring how their Sunday's best creased. A mother or two gave their children scathing glances or held their children to the pews.

"–, to push people away, or to allow others to stew in their paranoia. It is in those moments where our inactions speak just as strongly as our actions," Jason summed up.

Holding the silent for several minutes, Jason clapped his hands and hummed, "I hope you all have a wonderful day."

_I wonder if this is how teachers feel,_ Jason pondered as the crowd dispersed.

The majority made a beeline to the door, slowed by small groupings of older men and women socializing. He checked his phone: 11:10. As the room emptied out, Jason gestured for a pair of women to take over. Jason handled seventy percent of the church's duties. The other thirty percent went to the miraculous handful of clergy-people that remained at his nontraditional and ad libitum church.

Jason unceremoniously hurried to the backroom to check the duo that gnawed on his thoughts throughout his entire homily. Opening the door, he met a woman in her late fifties dressed in a long dark skirt and white blouse. She smiled and waved. Jason nodded in return, searching the room with a sweep of his head.

"Good morning, Father. Are you looking for someone?" she greeted.

Jason explained, "There were two people here -" Jason paused searching through his mental dictionary, "My friend and one of our members."

_Stranger than calling Dick a friend,_ Jason thought, _is not having a clue where he is._

To define his relationship with Dick seemed strange, he knew Dick too well to consider him a stranger or even an acquaintance yet he knew Dick not well enough to dub him a friend. Their shared experiences too few and too strained to form anything more than an slapdash bond. Naming their relationship at all felt too premature. They had only begun to make heads and tails of each other. 

"I think," she spoke up at last, "the taller one mentioned heading to the park."

"Kane Park?" Jason asked for clarification.

"Well, they left out the left exist."

"Thank you, Teresa."

He caught her amused laugh as he turned on his heel. Moved as quickly as was reasonable for someone whose legs were restricted by a robe. Nestled between an empty lot and a nearly historic aged house, Kane Park could barely dare to call itself a park. The grassy patch barely housed a small field, swings, and a rusted metal structures. Between the shady loiters and generations old play are, few allowed their children to do more than cut through the park during daytime. 

Jason stepped off the sidewalk. The parched grass crunching under his feet. He passed the sparse patch of trees until he saw Dick standing off to one side. Gabriel occupied him, sitting on the warped park bench. Dick saw Jason first. His head suddenly jerked to face Jason. Gabriel responded to Dick’s actions by turning to Jason’s direction.

"Father Todd!" Jason recognized the booming voice as Gabriel's, "Look what Dick can do!"

Dick straightened out. Bending his knees, he bounced like a spring. His feet followed his head into a back flip. The second his feet touched the ground, Dick entered a forward somersault.He planted his landing. Brushing the loose strands of hair from his face, Dick beamed as Gabriel clapped.

Blinking, Jason shook his head. The responsible adult inside of him questioned what series of events led them to discover Dick's acrobatic skills. The rest of him enjoyed the wide, shining grin that spread across of Dick's face. For the first time since Jason had met Dick, he seemed completely nonplus. Elation radiated from Dick's pores, spreading to Jason. He chuckled.

Gabriel complimented, "Dude, you hafta teach me that."

"I don't remember when I learned how to do this," Dick replied, a small crease formed in his forehead.

"That's cool," Gabriel answered, "Keep do it again and you'd figure out how to explain it to me."

_Beep. Beep. Beep._ Gabriel dug through his pockets pulling out an off brand, several versions old smart phone. He frowned. Picking up the three or four paperbacks, Gabriel tucked them under his arm. Jerking his head up, he made eye contact with Dick.

"I've got to leave. I'll see you later. You got to taught me how to do that. And don't you forget, you promised to teach me how to read," Gabriel rattled off.

Gabriel held up his hand at an angle. His arm hung in the air in waiting. After a moment, Dick met Gabriel's palm with his own. They ended by tapping fists. Gabriel turned and paused. He waved awkwardly at Jason before shuffling off.


	12. Unexceptional Day

"For someone that said he never did one before, you're pretty good at tricks on the bar, but can you do a real back flip?" Gabriel half joked, half-challenged.

His bones buzzing with a pleasant, nostalgic yet familiar feeling. The lingering emotion from performing and teaching several flips on the chin-ups bars sent his mood through the sky like he'd discovered an atrophied limb was suddenly functioning at full force. His body hummed that he definitely could do a flip. Stepping away from Gabriel, he checked the firmness of the parched earth. 

Kicking off the scraggy, yellowed grass, Dick went airborne, twisting 180 degrees. The world turned on its axis and then righted itself in Dick's eyes and he completed the half-twist. A grin broke across his face at Gabriel's wide-eyed look of awe. Excitement bubbled up in Dick's chest, an infectious euphoria. His feet sliced the air and the world became a blur of color. His feet flirted with the ground as he entered a back flip. Sticking his landing, phantom applause buzzed in his ears.

"Dude, dude!" Gabriel gasped, "that's fucking awesome. How'd you do that? Can you teach me?"

Dick body vibrated with energy. He searched his memory for how he did those flips and came out with zilch. His body instinctively knew what to do. It simply feel right.

"I can't. I have amnesia," Dick explained, tapping his fingers on his thighs.

"Amnesia?"

Drawing in a breath, Dick clarified, "Memory loss. I only clearly remember the last week or so."

Gabriel watched Dick. His mouth opening and closing several times until he just stared at Dick. A valley formed between his eyebrows. 

"I know how to read and count, but nothing personal," Dick added, drumming a drawn-out, three beat tempo on his his thigh.

"Dude, that," Gabriel paused, "that just sucks. No memories at all?"

Running his fingers through his hair, Dick nodded his head. The knot in his chest slacked. The tension left his shoulders. A bemused laugh trickled out from his closed lips. His shoulders jumped and stiffed in secession as he suppressed his chuckle. 

In response, Gabriel leaned back, eying Dick with a concern. His head turned at an angle. His cheeks went concave like he inhaled sharply. His stiff shoulders and wide, brown eyes questioned Dick: _are you okay?_

"It sucks," Dick repeated, "You're the first one to say it so straightforwardly."

Crossing his arms, Gabriel defended, "It does, does it?"

"Yeah, it does, Gabriel, no matter spin he puts on it," Dick trailed off. A particular priest popped into his head.

"He? Oh and it's Gabe. No one calls me Gabriel."

"Jason and doesn't he call you Gabriel?"

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, "He's a preach. That's different. And isn't it his job to see the silver lining?"

Gabe's eyes turned to saucers, his shoulder jerking up. His mouth formed silent words: _Wait._ He suddenly shook. From the garbled sounds escaping him, he bit down laugh. His fist covered his mouth, barely muffling his sudden delight. As Dick began to speak, Gabe gave up pretense and let out an echoing bark. 

Emphasizing his words with his hands, Gabe asked, "Wait, wait. No memories. Man, does that mean you choose to be called Dick?"

Gabe again cracked up. His frame trembled from his amusement. When he finished, Gabe held onto his sides as if to physically stop his laughter. His lips white as he bite down to keep it together. He rotated his hand quickly to encourage Dick to speak.

"No. My parents named me Richard," Dick stated, "Richard, Dick."

"Thought you said you had amnesia," Gabe broke down the last word carefully.

"I do. I only remember bits and pieces here and there," Dick revealed, "Someone sort of recognized me."

"Okay. Because dude, if you picked Dick yourself, I was gonna guess your memory wasn't the only thing that you lost."

Observing the grinning teen, Dick was suddenly reminded that he was over twice the kid's age. His instinct told him that Dick was a common name when he was young. Dick watched Gabriel, waiting for his immature laughter to subside.

"If you know your name, why didn't you look for people that know you?"

"The article said my parents are dead," Dick answered.

His gut twisted, implying that Gabe's idea wasn't good. His emotions screamed anyone that knew he wasn't dead would be in danger. Straightening up, Dick quickly scanned the horizon. He relaxed when the strange presence that had grated on his senses didn't register. 

"Oh, how'd you end up with Father Todd?" Gabe quickly tacked on, "if you don't mind me asking, y'all friends or . . .?"

 _What'd you call someone who offered you shelter and patience who wasn't part of your family?_ Dick questioned himself, _What is our relationship? We aren't strangers, but what are we? Jason showed me a surprising level of consideration and I enjoy his existence. . ._

"He found me blacked out near his house," Dick summarized.

"At least Father Todd found you and not some pimp or something."

"That's one way of looking at it," Dick confessed, "All I know is my name. Not who I was."

 _Or why Jason won't tell me I am. Or why someone watching me?_ at that thought, Dick recalled the thumping heartbeat only vanished after Dick left the church, _Why am I telling Gabe this?_

"Yeah, true. I meant at least you're not alone. A lot of people left to fend for their own, but Father Todd got your back," Gabe paused, "and I got you too."

Maybe that was it, Gabe's self-assured innocent and straightforwardness made Dick comfortable. Dick saw that Gabriel had no ulterior motives unlike Jason who despite his kindness had a hidden hand. Stepping forward, Dick picked up one of the ratty books that Gabe had taken: Gulliver's Travels.

Thumping through the pages to check his understanding Dick offered, "If you got my back, I got yours. I can help if you if you want."

"Seriously?"

Handing back the paperback, Dick nodded and expanded, "As much I know anyway."

"No, dude I'm a hopeless case any help is seriously needed."

"How about you, read one of these and mark wherever you're confused? And we can see what we can do from there," Dick suggested.

"Yeah, sure. When you free? Can you help me with English too?"

Dick thought of the off-white four walls and narrow halls that occupied the majority of his memory. And how claustrophobic his world would continue to be defined by Jason's home and actions, a suffocating level of dependence. Jason's voice played in his head reminding him that he should try to discover who he was now. A listless loomed in his mental horizon as he tried to imagine spending most of his hours indoors.

Glancing at the sky, Dick said, "I am free most days. I'll do my best."

Dick stilled. His ears picked up the crunch of grass. Feet moved toward Dick and Gabe. Turning ajar, he recognized a familiar tall figure.

"Isn't that Father Todd?"

◈ ◈ ◈

Jason pulled a shirt over his head, tugging it flat along his stomach. Walking around the coffee table, Jason sat on the couch. For a moment, he watched Dick. His heart spiking slightly as he thought.

"It looks like you hit it off Gabriel," Jason commented, leaned into the abused cushions.

Dick nodded his head.

"Don't let your excitement keep you up tonight," Jason joked, pushing of the couch.

As he entered the hallway, Jason looked back and commented, "You're welcome to join me."

Dick closed his eyes. An odd sluggishness entered his system. Not weariness or exhaustion, the sensation to simply cease thinking and to enter homeostasis with the universe.

His chest tightened a blimp registered on his mental radar: the nearly unperceivable pulse of an unseen figure. Reserve vim flooded his system. Dick opened his eyes. Jumping up, he quickly entered the bedroom.

Jason glanced up from his covers. The bed groaned as he shifted closer to the wall. His feet nearly knocked the spare blanket and pillow off the bed.

Catching the pillow, Dick settled onto the floor. Dick's ears first tuned in on Jason's specific heartbeat: **ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum.** Inclining his head, distinguished the languid beat from Jason's leisurely one. It beat once for very three of Jason's. The tempo rattled around in Dick's brain as he tried to place its familiarity: _where had he heard it before last night?_ The deliberate curt pace marched on. **Da**. **Da. Da.** Its slow beating seemed to be an afterthought. Blinking, Dick made out the sound of a second set of feet to his right. The soft scuffling settled into silent, but Dick determined that there were two people.

Jason turned over in the bed. Dick felt Jason's eyes drilling into him. Instead of Jason's normal andante, the tempo quickened. Dick watched the Jason fiddle with his cross. As if exhausted by his thoughts, he threw his head back and sighed.

"Are you okay? You've been pretty antsy since last night."

 _There's nothing he can do to stop it,_ Dick instincts told him.

His conscious reminded, _Didn't you promise to try to trust him? Also don't you hate it when he keeps things from you?_

Dick reported, "Someone's been watching us since yesterday. Two more people are watching us tonight, but I don't think they're with the first person."

"Well, if they're casing the place," Jason suggested, brushing his cross, "There's nothing worth taking. I can call the Neighborhood Watch if it'd make you feel better." 

"No, it doesn't matter," Dick replied.

From the way these people moved, so silent that only their bodily functions gave away their presence, average people wouldn't even see them. His instincts added that if the Neighborhood Watch did find them, they might encounter trouble. It wasn't safe for normal people to meet whoever was stalking Dick and Jason.

"Okay."

"Aren't you going to ask me how I know this?"

Shrugging, Jason muttered, "I trust your judgment. Is there anything I can to do make you feel better?"

"No."

"I see. Since there's nothing we can do, how about you catch some sleep? Whatever they do, staying up won't make them do it faster."

Jason patted the open space next to him. Inching until he essentially hugged the wall, Jason cleared up as large a space as a grown man could on a twin bed. He pulled the blankets up to his chest and gestured for Dick to join him in the Sandman's realm.

Dick knew why he enjoyed sleeping next to Jason, but wondered why the other allowed the normally private action. He should've questioned it sooner, but the previous times he needed someone there with him. That logic didn't work the other way around.

"Do you always share a bed with your guests?" Dick inquired.

Dick considered, _Is what he considers intimate different?_

"The only ones who've regularly slept over are you, Lian, and that bum, Roy. But no it doesn't bother me much, if I let someone stay over, I comfortable enough to share a bed if they're fine with it. To be honest, my couch is a p-o-s," Jason admitted.

He paused and muttered, "I probably should get a sleeping bag or futon for guests or a bigger bed if you continue staying here."

Standing up, Dick placed his pillow on the right side. He leaned on the bed. Ignoring the slight anxiety the outsiders' presence caused him, Dick closed his eyes. 

Opening his eyes, Dick saw Jason's lazily curled arm in his periphery, embracing Dick. His jaw lined up with the bridge of Dick's nose. His fingers rested on his shoulder. Realizing his own hand wrapped around Jason's waist, Dick pulled his arm away. He edged back with his arm.

His movement woke his other appendages. Nature called. A dull pain radiated from his nether regions. Peeling off the blanket, Dick shrugged off Jason's embrace. Jason's arm tightened around him. Not tightly enough to physically stop Dick, but the movement still stalled Dick. He didn't wake up Jason did he?

Angling his head, Dick watched Jason's eyes flutter half-open. He muttered gibberish and leaned closer to Dick. Their lips brushed. Jason on pulled away. He rubbed Dick’s head. Suddenly his arm released Dick. He squirmed on the bed, burying himself in the pillow and sheets. He instantaneously fell back asleep.

A small part of Dick wondered what Jason had dreamt of. Another wondered, if his stance on bed-sharing was rather lax, was his stance on kissing similar? Despite his occupation, Jason seemed like a rather devil-may-care personality. Kissing someone casually didn't seem out-of-character for him.

Before Dick considered how he felt about the kiss, his bladder doubled down and did the sensational equivalent of screaming. It threw a temper tantrum, demanding Dick immediately head to the toilet or relieve himself in the bed. Dick rolled out of bed. He darted to the bathroom.

When he came back to the room, Jason stared at Dick, blinking his eyes rapidly. Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. His face contorted, twisting with intense concentration. He sighed and stepped off of his bed.

"I'm gonna make some coffee an eggs, you want any?" Jason asked, his voice husky from sleep.

"I'll shower first," Dick answered.

The two men danced around another, sidestepping to avoid collision. As Dick knelt to open the drawer that Jason cleaned out for him, Jason cleared his voice. Dick looked up, resting his fingers on the soft cotton of a pair of pajama bottoms.

"I didn't do anything weird, did I?" Jason asked, rubbing the back of his head.

Dick shook his head.

"Wait," Dick called out.

"Yes?" Jason's voice jumped half an octave. His gaze swung from Dick's jaw up to his eyes.

"Do you know where I can get a cheap dictionary? I promised to help Gabe with his reading," Dick muttered, tapping on the drawer.

"Jon probably has some. I can take you after breakfast if you want."

"Thank you."

Jason gave Dick a thumps up. Dick turned his attention back to the drawer filled with his meager array of clothes. As Dick exchanged the bottoms for a pair of yoga pants, he heard Jason shuffle away, muttering under his breath: _Did I imagine that?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am procrastinating for studying for an exam so here's a small update.


	13. Speed Dial

The whoosh of the shower head bled through the thin walls of his house. Looking away from his bathroom, Jason stared at the slowly dripping coffee machine. The brown fluid barely filled the bottom of the glass. Closing his eyes, Jason attempted to rub the sleep from his eyes. A close-up of Dick's face popped into his mind's eyes and Jason's eyes snapped open.

 _Was that real?_ Jason wondered as the distinct pressure of chapped lips ghosted his mouth.

Staring in forward, Jason watched the coffee tease him as it fell through the filter. **Drip. Drip.** Kneading his lips with a knuckle, he switched to running his fingers through his hair. **Drip. Drip.** He wasn't awake enough to think about this. Dick hadn't said anything so if it had happened, it didn't matter to Dick.

 _So it shouldn't matter to me,_ Jason concluded.

Stepping away from the counter, a new thought entered his mind, _If it was a dream, then it doesn't mean anything._

 _Other than Dick's cute,_ his brain added, not-so-helpfully.

 _It wasn't a crime to think someone is attractive,_ tapping his fingers along the counter, he finished, _It's not like I'm looking for something anyway. That, whatever it was, is meaningless._

Except being the busybody that he was, Jason's consciousness wouldn't stop there. A fraction of him rose up walking the perimeter of his conscious, gathering evidence. A defense attorney ready dismantle the opposition, a voice in his head listed off several points.

_Even if it was a dream, why was it Dick? You said you wanted to get to know him better, was it in that way?_

Jason stared at his coffee pot. He pretended he couldn't hear the argument his brain set up. He watched each drop with the intensify of an oracle foretelling the end of the world. Each drop of coffee seemed temporarily frozen in time as it teased Jason before joining the other drops in the bottom of the glass.

_If you think you might be interest, shouldn't you tell him? You share a bed, after all._

**_Bed_** , he focused on that. Turning back time, Jason's mind conjured images of a trembling, breathless man with terror in his cloudy eyes. The half swallowed shouts and the curled in frame as if Dick was physically holding himself together as he badly hid his emotions.

Yanking the pot from the machine, Jason poured the hot liquid into a mug, his knuckles white where he griped the handle. He hastily blew on coffee. In the same breath, he angled the liquid into his mouth. He downed two mouthfuls nearly searing his tongue. The sudden caffeine hit his system like a truck, clearing up his thoughts.

 _Dick depends on me,_ Jason stated.

Dick was an adult, but he had amnesia. Jason felt responsible for Dick and he relied on Jason. Even if he wasn't following some self-imposed celibacy, considering Dick in that light was _wrong_. Dick needed someone to help him get back on his feet. That was it. Anything else was . . .

The hinges for the bathroom door squeaked open. Looking over his shoulder, Jason saw a ratty towel tangled around one of Dick's arms as he dried off his hair. His only pair of jeans were slung low on his hips. A form-fitting tee left very little to the imagination.

Turning his head, Jason took another long drink of his coffee. His mouth instantly regretted it as the full force of the beverage assaulted his taste buds. With his free hand, he searched his cabinet for creamer and sugar before draining half of his mug.

Jason filled his cup back to the brim, adding a tablespoon of cream and sugar. Actually up and running, Jason cleared up his counter. He sidestepped to his fridge, pulling out eggs, deli meats, tomatoes, bell peppers, cilantro, and other greens. Dumping them on his counter, he dug a whisk, pan, and oil out from under his counter. Turning on the flame, he set the pan atop before pulling a bowl from his cabinet.

On a cutting board, he quickly sliced the meat into small strips, then chopped his vegetables. Turning, he added oil to his pan. With a quick flick of his wrist, he spread the oil throughout the pan. Cracking three eggs into a small bowl, he whisked them haphazardly. A second later the eggs when into the pan. A minute after that went everything else. 

He folded the omelet into a plate. Placing the plate on the table, he saw Dick open the fridge and pull out the nearly empty gallon of milk. Jason straightened out and playfully crossed his arms.

Jason teased, "I'm going to get offended one day that you prefer cereal over my home cooking."

Dick shrugged and commented, "It's easier to make."

Shaking his head, Jason divided his eggs with his fork. As he took the first bite, a knock sounded from his front door. Dick tensed, eying the door uneasily. Jason stood up and reluctantly headed to the door. Ignoring how his stomach complained about the meager amount of food that just entered it, Jason opened the door. 

A man of approximately five feet eight broke out into a grin. He held out his head and pulled Jason into a welcoming hug. The other arm firmly patted Jason's bad. Patting Marcus's shoulder, Jason noticed the two men standing behind Marcus. Each gave Jason a curt nod.

"Good morning too, but I doubt this is a pleasure visit," Jason muttered as the man released him.

Stepping back, Jason nearly hit Dick who had appeared sometime between opening the door and now. Glancing back at Marcus, Jason angled his body for that Dick was in plain sight.

"Marcus, my guest, Dick," Jason introduced, "Dick my family friend Marcus."

"Nice to meet you," Marcus welcomed.

Marcus held out his hand. Dick took it and for a tense moment Jason saw them sizing each other up. Marcus puffed out his chest and squeezed firmly. Dick had a nonplus look and gave a curt nod in response to Marcus's greeting.

Releasing hands, Marcus stepped toward the other two men. Jason vaguely recognized them from the congregation, but never personally spoke to them. The three exchanged pointed looks.

"Son, has anything strange been happening?" Marcus addressed the elephant in the room.

 _They can't know about Dick, can they?_ Jason's mind blurted, paranoid.

Crossing his arms, Jason asked, "What do you mean?"

Marcus clarified, "The last few nights people reported strange people in the area."

Making eye contact with Dick, Jason raised a brow in a question. Dick tensed up. Jason picked up the dull sounds of fingers tapping on denim. 

"No, I didn't notice anything, but I sleep fairly early," Jason answered.

"How about your friend there?" Marcus questioned, jerking his head in Dick's direction.

"I didn't see anything," Dick answered, his voice hoarse from disuse.

Marcus nodded and continued, "Well, we're starting up a night watch for the next week or so to calm people's minds. Could you announce that at the next service? We're looking for volunteers."

"I'll leave a message for Bishop," Jason agreed.

Clapping his hands, Marcus smiled, "Now that we got that business outta of the way, do you mind if I speak to you in private?"

"We'll head off to the next house then," one of the two mumbled, taking the hint.

Jason suggested, "Dick you should finish your cereal before it gets soggy. I'll be in as soon as I'm done with Marcus."

Jason barely picked up Dick's shuffling steps into the house. Closing the door, Jason moved onto the pitiful strip that he called a porch. The dust brushed along his toes.

"Something wrong Marcus?" Jason inquired.

Watching the space behind Jason, Marcus questioned in a low voice, "Who's your friend?"

"What?"

"Your friend," Marcus repeated, "He appeared outta nowhere."

Straightening out to his full six feet two inches, Jason hissed, "Are you trying to suggest he's involved him something?"

_I mean he does, but I'm the only one that should know that except the Court._

"No, no, mijo," Marcus protested, raising his hands up in defense.

"¿Cómo se dice...?" Marcus paused, "Jon said you brought clothes for him and he's been living with you..."

Marcus left the gaps for Jason to fill. Jason blinked processing the information. Jason face palmed. Dragging his hand down his face, Jason felt a wave of disappointment.

"Are you trying to ask if we're together?" Jason finally gasped, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You know I won't judge if you were -"

Jason interrupted, "How much do you have us dating?"

"What?"

"Jon started another betting pool on whether I'm dating someone again, didn't he?" Jason concluded, "how much do you have on me dating Dick?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, mijo."

Crossing his arms, Jason stared at Marcos.

Marcos sighed, "I didn't bet on anything. Jon nagged me to ask you."

Rubbing his temple, Jason muttered, "I thought you were trying to get him to quit."

Marcos shrugged and stated, "You can get an ass to water, but . . ."

"That's a nice way of describing your husband," Jason chuckled.

"Well?" Marcus prompted.

Jason sighed, "Dick's fallen on some hard times and I'm helping back onto his feet."

Closing the space between them, Marcus offered, "You know I wouldn't say anything if it were -"

"Tío," Jason warned.

"Fine," Marcus retreated, "If you want to volunteer call me or the Neighborhood Watch. Be careful, Jason."

Massaging his temples, Jason took a moment to bat the ridiculous of the past five minutes out of his head. His stomach grumbled like an old miser. The silence gave his mind time to be nosy once more.

Whatever, whoever, Dick heard, others saw them. What if it's the Court of Owls? Jason's temple pulsed unhelpfully. What could Jason do? He was just a pastor off to one side in downtown Gotham. It's not like he had Batman on speed dial? Even if he did how would he begin to explain Dick?

Jason's stomach roared, ending that line of thought. Turning around, Jason entered his house. Mentally hitting the pause button, Jason promised to think about it after breakfast.

◈ ◈ ◈

Switching between staring at his motorcycle and surveying Dick, Jason pulled on his red helmet. He rolled the spare, pink one his hands uneasily. The memory of a no-hands backseat rider tingled his nerves. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. 

Holding the helmet above Dick's hands, Jason growled, "No crazy stunts or you're walking home, understood?"

Dick tucked his chin in for a reluctant nod.

"Why would you let go in the first place?" Jason muttered softly to himself.

Dick answered, "It feels like flying."

Mounting the seat, Jason coughed, "Well, find your adrenaline rush somewhere else without getting me a ticket."

A moment later, Jason kicked off. The engine roared to life and they zipped down the street. At every stoplight and sign, Jason double checked that Dick's arms were where they belonged.

Squeezing between two vans, Jason waited for Dick to dismount the bike before following suit. A second later, he stored both helmets under the seat with a bit of Tetris-like arrangement. Zipping up his race jacket, Jason pointed at Jon's store with a jerk of his thumb.

A small bell went off as the door swung open. Jon glanced up from the corner. A wide grin broke across his face. His eyes jumped between Dick and Jason. He waved energetically at Jason.

 _Why does he look so happy -_ Jason wondered, _oh right, he's a bet going._

"The books section is next Jon," Jason commented, "You should probably find a dictionary about three to four years old back there."

Dick nodded, veering off to the right. Jason kept forward until he came to a stop in front of the counter. Jon's face glowed. His eyes turned crescents as Jon waved at him.

"Jon stop betting on my love life," Jason hissed, cutting to the chase.

Jon mouth popped into an 'o'. In the next second, the 'o' became a straight line. Jon interlinked his hands and rested them on the counter.

"I have no idea why," Jon began.

Jason cut off Jon, "Marcus already told me."

"You know us old people love to gossip. If it wasn't me, it'd be someone else. I can cut you in on the bet," Jon started his pitch. 

"You're asking a priest to gamble," Jason stated, tilting his head judgmentally.

"So are you?" Jon asked, ignoring Jason's criticism.

"No."

Before Jon could make another sound, Jason repeated, "No."

"When was the last time you let yourself have fun, Jason?"

Swallowing, Jason broke eye contact. Angling his head to the right, Jason saw Dick shifting through worn books. On the case perpendicular to him, a handful of bat-shaped boomerangs sat on the top shelf. Below it were other miscellaneous items: an empty canister of fear gas, a cat-shaped calling cat, and an arrow made of red metal. 

_An arrow made of red metal._ , face palming, Jason realized, _I don't have Batman on speed dial, but Roy still exists._

"Do you mind if I duck out back to make a call?" Jason asked.

Lifting the counter door, Jon warned, "It's a mess back there."

Jon wasn't joshing. The narrow hall shrank from the boxes of odd items that lines the wall. Jason edged carefully forward until he made it to a slightly spacier backroom. The area had enough room for a small fold-out table, chair, TV, and a row of boxes lining the perimeter.

Dropping into the plastic chair, Jason pulled out his phone. He quickly scrolled through his contacts. It didn't take long. Jason had only a handful of contacts. Tapping his foot on the speckled linoleum flooring, Jason impatiently waited for the dial tone.

Mumbling appeared on the other side of the phone.

"Roy?" Jason double checked.

Roy stumbled over his words, "Jaybird, why - do you know what time it is? Six. Why'd you call me?"

"I need a favor," Jason began.

Pausing, he clarified, "From Arsenal, not Roy."

A mess of noises bled through: rustling sheets, creaking springs, and a panting Roy. Jason's foot continued to thump off on the flooring. A series of clamoring noises suggested that Roy dropped his cell. 

"Alright, what's wrong?!" Roy essentially shouted into Jason's ear.

"You have connections with the Justice League, right?"

"Jason what happened?" Roy hissed.

"Answer the question."

"Yes, but why they fuck do you need the help of the entire fucking Justice League!"

"So you can talk to Batman? Without asking me for details, can you check if the Court of Owls is interested in the church off 5th and Wayne?"

Sounding exasperated, Roy sibilated, "Who the hell is the Court of Owls and why do you need Batman?"

"I said not to ask questions," Jason deflected.

 _How would I even begin that story? Hey Roy so I'm might be harboring essentially is what is Gotham's version of the Illuminati's black hand and they might want him back,_ Jason mocked himself.

"Are you in danger?" Roy asked after a long silence.

"Probably not."

_I'm just a little priest. If the Court is real and wanted me dead, I'd be dead._

"I'll call Bats, but if anything happens, call the damn police."

"Thanks, Roy."

Swiping his phone, Jason stared at the blank screen. He was a minority priest in the bad part of town. What did he do to deserve to get involved in Gotham's weird and dark side.

Exhaling, Jason stood up. It wasn't productive to remind on that train of thought. Turning around, Jason shuffled toward the core of the store.

"Eek!"

Jason froze. If it hadn't been for the gasp, Jason would've assumed he ran into a stand. Angel pushed off the stacks of boxes. She brushed her coarse yellow locks away from her face.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, brushing off his shoulder.

Catching narrow fingers, Jason countered, "No it was my fault. I apologize for spooking you."

She pulled her arm away, peering up at Jason. She was a good head shorter than Jason. The circles under her eyes were moats of listlessness.

"Have you been having problems sleeping lately?" Jason asked, playing the caring priest card.

"No," she said under her breath.

Jason coaxed, "I am not here to judge, miss."

"It sounds like I'mma liar, but I saw the devil last night," she whispered as if the thought of it frightened her. She checked over her shoulder for good measure. Her eyes rimmed red with fear.

Plastering on his polite smile, Jason encouraged, "Perhaps if you talk about it, it'd make you feel better, Angel." 

Flattening himself along the boxes, Jason gestured for her to seat at the chair. Her bloodshot eyes widened in surprise. Angel ducked her head, staring at the floor.

"I can't take up your free time like that, Father," she murmured.

Cupping her shoulder, Jason emphasized, "I'm offering my time. I would be glad to listen if it took some weight off your shoulders."

"It had curved, metal horns and red eyes the size of satellites," she spoke, half her words dipping into a voiceless fear, "and it had row of knives sticking outta its chest."

Angel hesitated, scanning the dark corners of the room. Jason waited, gesturing her to continue. Although the descriptor wasn't familiar, her demon sounded very much like one of Gotham's many masked criminals.

"I was settling down for the night when it landed in front of me. It didn't move like a human - too quiet," Angel vocalized, the words catching in her throat, "It turned and saw me. That's how I got a good look at its face. Before it got any closer, some others came down. I guess they heard me making some noise. It jumped straight onto the fire escape and disappeared."

_Why does this sound familiar?_

Inhaling, Jason inquired, "Did it wear armor on its shoulders and arms?" 

Sniffling, she gasped, "How'd you know, Father? Did you see it too?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking so long to update!


	14. Announcement

Hello, I feel like I apologize putting Damaged Talons on an unofficial hiatus for so long and I am sorry that no new content for it will be published soon. I thought I’d make this update so people know it’d continue. This is not an update for Damaged Talons but an update on its status. I know I haven’t added a chapter in months. I just wanted everyone to know it’s not abandoned. After the long break, I looked at it and realized the story I had intended to write, was writing, and wanted to write were not the same. After much consideration, I decided to revamp the story so it matched what I wanted to write. The general plot is the same, but a lot of details and subplots changed.

I already have the story outlined to the end. I just finished revamping the original 13 chapters so I am comfortable saying that the story will be completed. To avoid a long hiatus like the one that happened, I will not post the revamped chapters until I have all the outlined chapters drafted which will take a while. There’s nine more chapters planned for the story not including a potential epilogue if I feel it’s appropriate. Also here is information on the revamped version:

The new title of Damaged Talons is Eye of Another. The new title is inspired by the Latin phrase “Corvus oculum corvi non eruit”. Translated to English, that means a crow (or raven) does not pick out the eye of another crow (or raven). Part of the reason for the new chapter is because I felt like Damaged Talons doesn’t fit the story anymore. The other part is to add intentional symbolism to the story.

The new working synopsis for Eye of Another:

> There are two Gothams. There is the Gotham City established by the Waynes, the Cobblepots, and the Elliots and is known for its high population density with an even higher crime rate. There is also the Gotham City conceived by the Court of Owls and is stilled controlled from the shadows by the mysterious parliament. Which one is the real Gotham?  
>   
>  Is the common or fantastical city real? For most cities, the truth exists somewhere between fact and myth. The line is blurred in Gotham City by its history with caped crusaders and capricious criminals. Making the distinction between misconception and truth is an arduous task.  
>   
>  When Jason Todd discovers that one of the city’s urban legends is more fact than myth, the local priest realizes that perhaps the division between legend and reality doesn’t exist for Gotham City. Taking in the wounded Talon, the two begin an unusual living arrangement. Later, they must navigate the road between the two Gothams.  
> 

Other details:

  * Longer chapters   

  * Jason’s backstory is extended  

  * Rosa, Gabe, Jon, and Marcus’s roles are expanded  




Would you all prefer if I kept this version of the story up as an archive after I started posting Eye of Another? Would you like me to update on my writing status on the drafts of chapters of 14 to 22? Any other concerns?


	15. Announcement: Eye of Another

Hello, it's been over a year since I've made a comment on this fic. I'd like to apologize for that. I do have good news. I have revamp of Damaged Talons, Eye of Another, posted.

I already have the 22 chapters of the story drafted. I was hoping to have the entire story completed before posting again. However, I realized that I was going into the perfectionist route and this would never get done if I did not post as I edited my draft.

I hope to see everyone who enjoyed this story as Damaged Talons will come to like it in its new form: [Eye of Another.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13434102/chapters/30788619)


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